


California Love

by grahamcrackercrumbs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Frottage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Vibrators, they 69???, typical zarry angst, uni!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcrackercrumbs/pseuds/grahamcrackercrumbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn thinks back to the previous night, but it’s hazy and all he remembers is shouting with Niall for more shots, coming back to his room and smoking a couple joints together, and some embarrassing lamentations about the cuteness of Harry’s ass while Niall was trying to get him to sleep. Since only a small portion of it involved actively thinking about Harry, Zayn considers the night a great success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a note, the first chapters will have no sexually explicit content, but overall the story will.

Zayn fumbles with his key, trying to keep the sleeves of his sweatshirt wrapped around his fingers. His hands are shaking- from nerves probably, but Zayn attributes it to the weather. After a few botched attempts, he finally manages to insert the key into the lock and opens the door. Zayn walks in, pulling both his suitcases and carry-on bag in with him. He sits the suitcases upright and looks around at his new room, his new home- for the next nine months or so at least. All the walls are white and a bit dingy, but Zayn doesn't mind. He at least has the space to himself, having opted out of the whole "roommate" situation. He had come to the agreement with his parents that if he were going to move thousands of miles away from home, he'd need a safe haven, a sanctuary for himself.

               A cold gust of wind against his back alerts Zayn that he has yet to shut the door, so he runs over and clicks it closed, rubbing his hands together to fight off the chill. Back home it's still in the eighties- at least. He lifts his suitcase, plopping it down on the bed. It contains all the necessities: sheets, blankets, pillows and pillowcases for his bed, the information packets he'd received at orientation, all the school materials he'd bought, clothing, and various toiletries. He curses himself for not listening to his mom and packing his heavy coat. He’d grossly overestimated his resistance against the cold. He looks down at the few t-shirts, pants, boxers, socks, snapback and pair of shoes he'd packed and shakes his head at the inevitably frigid days to come. He doesn't bother worrying though; the rest of his things will arrive in a few days in boxes that are being shipped.

               He unpacks the suitcase, setting his books and papers on his desk in neat stacks. Next, he makes his bed, laying out and tucking his sheets in carefully before ripping them back off when he gets to the top and realizes they're crooked. He tries again, paying special attention to smoothing out the corners, but he's still dissatisfied. He's about to take them off for the fourth time, but as he reaches up to pull the fabric, he plops down with a huff instead. Normally, Zayn wouldn't care- he never puts this much energy and commitment into making his bed at home- but he needs something to distract him. He wants something about this situation to start out right. He lays for a while, silent, and finally lets himself feel the exhaustion and trepidation he's been fighting off ever since he made the final decision to attend college abroad in England.

 His mind is tired, worn out from the nerves and ten hour plane ride, but his body is itching to move; back home it's around eleven o'clock in the morning. He gets up and opens his carry-on, pulling out his longboard and removing the bubble wrap from around the trucks. He tugs the beanie on his head down and puts his headphones in, turning on _Black Radio 2._ He grabs his keys, locks the door behind him, and then steps on his board, riding out on to the campus sidewalks.

               As he rides around he realizes he should probably be trying to memorize where buildings are, so he can find his classes later, but instead he lets his mind wander. A pleasant, soothing hum settles in his body as he listens to the music pouring out of his headphones. He dips his head, finally relaxed, and watches the lines of the sectioned cement pass beneath his wheels, quickly blurring.

               He feels a jolt and the lines beneath approach quickly as his board slips out from under him, earphones ripping from their place. His calmed state is interrupted as he stumbles forward, palms and knees burning from the harsh contact with the cement.

               "Didn't you hear me? I tried to warn you."

               Zayn mumbles repeated apologies, but can't bring himself to look at the stranger’s face. "Are you alright?"

               "Yah, bro, don’t worry about it," the voice responds. "Are you?"

               Zayn looks up slightly to see a pair a pair of brown tattered shoes. "Sorry," he mutters again, and quickly grabs his board, jogging until gets back to his dorm, not bothering to make eye contact with the numerous people who stare at him as he passes.

              

              He takes the keys from his pocket, easily unlocking the door this time, and closes it hurriedly behind him. He reaches into his pocket, digging around for his iPod.

             "Fuck," he curses, leaning his board against the wall. He'd forgotten to pick it back up after his embarrassing crash. He kicks off his shoes and buries himself into his pillow, angry with himself. He falls asleep that night doubting every decision and circumstance that has brought him here, to this point in his life.

 

 

*****

             "What do you mean it's gonna take a few weeks? You said a few days, Mom!"

             "I know, and I'm sorry, Honey, but there's nothing I can do. They sent your boxes to the wrong place, and it's just going to take a little while longer to get to your school." Zayn can feel the annoyance in his chest grow, and he curses under his breath. "Zayn, watch your mouth."

             "Sorry, Mom,” he replies earnestly. “It's just it has all my clothes and art stuff in it. I need it for class."

             "I know, but you'll just have to wait. I'm sure if you explain the situation to your teacher, they'll have some supplies you can use."

             Zayn sighs. "Yah, you’re right. Sorry for being such a pain about it. I'll just have to brush up on my laundry skills." He hears his mother laugh through the phone, and some of the stress he's been feeling leaves his body.

             "I better get off the phone. This is costing us a fortune. Waliyha is going to show me how to use Skype tomorrow, though. I love you, Zayn. Take care! And good luck in your classes!"

             "Thanks, Mom. Love you, too. Talk to you later."

             Zayn drops his phone back into his pocket, and walks into his first class of the year: Psychology 101. He doesn't technically need it, being an Art major, but he needed another class to fill his schedule, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Statistics.

              He takes a cursory glance around the room before heading to the back row of seats. He sets his books and bag down, sliding his board underneath his seat. Resting his head in his elbow, he closes his eyes. It's been three days, and he still hasn't managed to adjust to the time difference. Whenever he's supposed to be falling asleep, he's wide awake, and when he's in class, he's running on fumes.

               "Hey, aren't you the guy that knocked me over with your board?" Zayn shifts his head on his arm to look over and down: brown, leather, roughed-up shoes. A wave of panic rises inside him, and he tenses his fists, preparing himself. "Whoa, I was just trying to make sure, so I could give you your iPod back."

               Zayn relaxes his hands, and looks up. The owner of the voice has his hands up, palms facing Zayn, and his eyebrows are raised slightly. Zayn thinks offhandedly that he's quite pretty. In one hand he's holding Zayn's black iPod, earphones wrapped around it neatly.

 "Oh, thanks." Zayn breathes a quiet sigh of relief and reaches out for the iPod. Zayn looks back down to his lap. "Sorry about that."

               "Don't worry about it. I'm Harry by the way."

               Zayn looks up and is met with a wide, friendly grin plastered across the boy's face.

"Zayn."

               "Well, you have really good taste in music, Zayn." Harry's smirking, and Zayn doesn't understand the joke if he’s made one. He tried watching some British television before he came, but he just could never get a grasp on the humor.

               "Thanks," he replies evenly. Zayn sees the teacher walk into the room in his peripheral, so he turns forward in his seat, and begins playing with the edge of his notebook.

               "Alright, well, I'll see you later then, Zayn," Harry replies cheerfully, though a hint of confusion crosses his face.

               Harry walks toward the front of the room and sits in the middle of a large group of students, and Zayn watches as he laughs easily with them all and rests his head on the shoulder of the person sitting next to him. Harry lifts his head and turns around, and when he catches Zayn's eye, he winks. Zayn scoffs quietly to himself rolls his eyes, averting his attention to the front of the room and purposefully ignoring the warmth creeping into his cheeks.

               Zayn makes it through the class without having to speak to anyone else, and when the teacher excuses them early he hastily picks up his things and rides over to the cafeteria to grab lunch. After stacking some fruit and a chicken wrap that looks safe in his hand (he's not sure how he's going to get used to the new cuisine) he takes his daily walk to the bathroom, to eat alone.

               Zayn had tried the first day, and the second, and the third during final orientation, but there had been so many people. Everyone wandered around him, talking loudly and quickly, and soon his skin had grown hot, prickly, and he had had to leave. It had become routine now, over the last few days, to eat in the bathroom alone, and honestly Zayn didn't mind that much. Aside from the hygienic factor, he liked having the little stall to himself with no one to bother him. He thinks about eating in his dorm, but his morning and afternoon classes are too close together, and he doesn’t want to be there anyway- the walls are too blank.

               He checks his watch and hesitates when he realizes he has a good chunk of time left in his schedule before class starts. He doesn't want to get there too early and have to risk talking to someone, but he also doesn't want to arrive late. His next class is Life Drawing, and he doesn't want to miss any of it. He remembers that he needs to talk to his teacher about borrowing supplies, though, and decides to chance it.

               He takes his time riding over to the Art building, swerving on his board and making wide turns. It's tucked away in a corner of the campus, and in contrast to the brick that covers the rest of the buildings, it's much more modern with gray slate walls and curving angles.

               After explaining his situation, the teacher, Professor M, eagerly agrees to give Zayn access to the Art department's supplies, and he jots down the hours the workshop is open for use. He decides he likes Professor M. Her name reminds him of a comic book character. Zayn thanks her, and takes his usual seat at the back of the classroom at one of the large tables. He realizes that they're probably going to be in partners, so he slides his bag further across the table and sends up a prayer that no one will need it. He quietly sighs in relief and lets a small smile cross his lips when Professor M starts class and the seat beside him is still open.

               "Hello, everyone! Welcome to Life Drawing. I'm Professor M, and we've got quite a full schedule this semester, so we're going to get started right away! Everyone take out your notebook. We’re going to do five minute sketches of the human body. This will be our baseline, to see where all your skill levels are at right now. I'm starting the clock in 3,2, go!"

               Zayn begins drawing long sloping lines across his paper. He hadn't decided before he started, but now he sees he's drawing a woman. He's always liked drawing feminine figures, loves how his hand feels drawing the soft, curving lines. He adds as many details as he can, and when the teacher calls time, Zayn leans back and looks at his work: the woman's back is facing him and her hands are stretched upwards, fingers spread, while her legs and feet are placed closely together. He thinks it’s okay; he could've picked a more dynamic pose, though. Professor M. counts down again, and this time he finds himself drawing a man, hunched over on his knees, side facing the viewer, and tendrils of curly hair hanging over his face. He's adding more details to the hair, trying to get it perfectly disheveled, when the door to the classroom bursts open. Zayn's head shoots up abruptly, and his pencil clatters to the floor.

               "Sorry! Sorry! Got lost!" the boy is breathing harshly, having apparently just run. He stands there for a moment, and pulls off his snapback, running his hand through his hair before putting it back on.

               "You'll need to find a seat Mr..."

               "Horan!" the boy says happily reaching out to shake her hand. "Niall Horan. And yah, I'll go do that know."

               Zayn takes a frantic look around the room, looking for other empty seats. Niall walks up to the other side of Zayn's table, or what had once been Zayn's table, and smiles. "I guess it's you and me then, mate." Zayn gives him a small nod, moves his backpack to the floor, and then looks back down to his notebook.

               "Wow, you're really good!" Zayn rushes to hide his book against his chest.

               "Maybe you should take out your own notebook," Zayn says evenly.

               "Good thinking," Niall replies enthusiastically, giving Zayn a friendly pat on the back.

               Zayn stares back blankly before turning to his own work as Professor M signals the start of another five minute session.

 

 

               Throughout the class, Niall makes quiet remarks under his breath, more often than not inappropriate quips, which only Zayn and he can hear. Niall's accent makes everything more entertaining, along with the grin he always has on his face, and despite his best efforts, Zayn finds himself stifling laughter throughout the class.

*****

               On Thursday, Zayn has his second Psychology class, so he skates over to the Liberal Arts building, last class' lecture notes in hand. As he gets off his board he tucks his hands back into his sweatshirt, freezing from the wind blowing past him. Silently, he curses the US Postal Service. He walks to his usual spot in the back and gets comfy, opening his notebook and preparing for the two-and-a-half-hour lecture. A stack of books drop on the desk beside him.

               "Good morning, Zayn!"

               Zayn turns his head to find Harry sitting down in the seat next to him, entirely too chipper for this time of day and weather such as this. Zayn watches his brow furrow and the corners of his mouth turn down. "Harry... remember?"

               "Yeah, I remember," Zayn responds simply.

               Harry's face changes immediately, swapping his frown for a wide smile. "Oh, good! Good!" Harry nods, and Zayn watches his hair spring up and down with the movement before Harry pushes it back.

               "Don't you normally sit at, like, the front of the class?"

               Harry nods again, and Zayn watches the same movement in his hair. It's rather hard not to. "Yah, but I like to switch up my seats. Keep a fresh perspective." Zayn looks at him for a moment, purposefully apathetic, before he turns back in his seat, getting his pen out. He’s not sure how different the perspectives can be a in a classroom that sits fifty people. "Where are you from?" Zayn looks at Harry and narrows his eyes, and Harry looks slightly taken aback. "It's just your accent. Are you from America?"

               Zayn's face quickly softens back to its usual look of disinterest as he realizes there's no malice behind the question. "Yah, um, I'm from California."

               Harry’s eyes light up at the new information. "Really? Where in California?"

               Zayn plays with the edges of his sweatshirt. "The Bay. Santa Cruz, to be more specific."

               "Sick. I've always wanted to go to L.A." Harry looks down at where Zayn is hiding his hands in his sweatshirt, and then back to him. A worried look crosses his face. "Are you cold?" Harry is making extremely intense eye contact, and for a moment, all Zayn can do is stare back.

               "Uh, yes. A little I guess." Harry continues to hold his gaze, seemingly very interested in what Zayn has to say, so Zayn continues. "My stuff is being shipped here, but it got delayed, so I don't really have all my clothing at the moment." Harry's mouth has formed into a concerned pout.

               "Here, take my coat," Harry says as he begins to reach behind him.

               "No, no, it's fine," Zayn says hurriedly.

               "Zayn, c'mon. Your teeth are chattering. It's no big deal." Harry holds out his red plaid jacket. It does look inviting and warm.

               Zayn takes the jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders. Although he didn't realize it before, Harry must be bigger than him because the sleeves reach the tips of his fingers. Zayn pulls the collar closer to him and catches the warm scent of cinnamon and cologne.  "Thanks, Harry."

                "No worries. If you need to borrow anything else, like a jumper or something let me know." Zayn nods silently, and watches Harry's dimples deepen as he bites down on his lower lip before turning back to his notes.

 

*****

               The rest of the week goes by relatively smoothly, and Zayn is delighted to find out that Professor M. teaches his second art class, Painting, as well. He spends the entire weekend in the Art Department's studio, and by the time he's done, he has a mural taped up, covering the largest of his dorm room walls.

               On Monday, Harry finds Zayn as he's walking out of the cafeteria with his lunch.

               "Hey! Zayn!" Harry waves, and Zayn responds with a slight shake of his own hand. He stops walking once he realizes Harry's jogging over, curls flopping around on top of his head. "How was your weekend?"

               "Good." Zayn looks down and realizes he's wearing Harry's jacket again. "Oh, shit. Sorry, I meant to give it back to you." Harry puts his arms out in front of him quickly, shaking his head.

               "No, no, no. By all the means, keep it. At least until your other stuff comes." A smirk starts on Harry's face, and he says, "Besides, it looks better on you." Zayn’s too busy taking in the way Harry’s mouth moves around the words to register the compliment. "Do you wanna grab anything else? My dorm is just around the cor-"

               "No." Zayn looks down at his boots, picks at the paint that's dried underneath his fingernails. He knows Harry's trying to be kind, but Zayn's a bit wary of why, and he really doesn't feel comfortable taking things from others-even if it's temporary.

               Harry has on a green coat that matches the undertones in his eyes, and it reminds Zayn of the trip his family took to see the Redwood Forest last August. Harry wrings his hands together, seemingly disappointed. "Oh. Okay."

               "I really do appreciate your help, though. Y'know, with the jacket and all."

               "Yeah, well like I said, it's no problem."

               "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

               "See you tomorrow, Zayn," Harry says, a smile coming back to his face. Zayn turns away, and sighs a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He hurries back to his dorm, anxious to be alone and spend the rest of the day on his Life Drawing homework. When he gets to the assignment, a hand study, he finds himself drawing the tight grip of Harry's worried hands.

*****

               The next Thursday, in Psychology, Harry sits next to Zayn again. For once Zayn starts the conversation.

               "I thought you liked to change seats? Get a different view or something?"

               "Yah, but this one has the best view." Harry's smiles at him and swivels back and forth in his chair.

               Zayn raises his eyebrow slightly, giving Harry an unimpressed look. "Okay," he says plainly.

               Harry slouches in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. "What's your favorite thing about California?"

               "The sunshine,” Zayn says without hesitation. “Apparently we've taken it all from your country because I haven't seen a decent ray of sun since I got here." Harry tilts his head back and laughs easily.

               "That's why they call it the Sunshine State, right?"

               Zayn looks at him confused. "California's the Golden State."

               Harry's brow furrows, and the familiar pout appears again. "That's not what Tupac said." Zayn lets out a short burst of laughter, but turns his head to the side, covering his mouth with his hand. When he turns back Harry is smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Why is it called the Golden State?"

               "Uh, because people originally came there to, like, mine for gold, get rich." Harry nods, giving him the same concentrated attention as before.

               "You're a regular historian, Zayn."

               Zayn smiles slightly, but looks down and shakes his head. "Nah, I just know odd facts here and there, I suppose."

               "But those are the best!" Harry's eyes have grown wider in his excitement, and Zayn can't stop staring at the different hues of green and blue. "Especially language ones. Like words that don't translate over or idioms.” Harry’s gesturing with his hands, but the movements seem to have no direct relation to what he’s saying. “I’ve been trying to learn a new language, but I’m not very good at it. Really, I just can’t pick one language to stick with. What about you? Do you have any favorite odd facts, Zayn?"

               "Um, yah, I suppose…" Zayn runs his hands through his hair, unsure if he's actually going to admit to this. He looks back at Harry, eyes wide, patiently waiting for his answer. He hesitates before saying, "I really like sea animals. Like facts about sea animals, I guess." He tips his head back down, already wincing when he thinks of Harry's probable response.

               "That's brilliant!” Zayn looks up, expecting a mocking smile, but instead the one he sees is genuine. “Did you know,” Harry begins, giving Zayn a haughty look, eyebrows raised and hands folded in his lap. “Jellyfish have been around since before the dinosaurs?"

               Zayn laughs lightly at his expression. "Over 650 million years."

               Harry’s face falls back to its usual look of easiness, and he grins at Zayn. Zayn smiles back for a second, before turning back to his notebook in front of him. A moment of quiet falls over them, and Zayn can hear Harry tapping out a quick rhythm on the desk. The tapping stops, and Harry’s chair squeaks quietly as he turns around to face Zayn.

               "My mate's throwing a party tonight, at his flat off campus. Would you like to come? I mean, I'd really like it if you did." Harry's biting his bottom lip, hands clasped in his lap, and Zayn shifts in his seat.

               "Um, well, I'd say yes, but I don't have a car on campus."

               "That's alright! I can drive you, if you'd like."

               Harry looks up at Zayn through his eyelashes, hopeful, and Zayn's breath is caught in his throat. Against his better judgment Zayn says, "Okay."

               "Great, that's brilliant!" The teacher addresses the class, bringing it to a start. Harry leans in closer, and Zayn watches his numerous necklaces swing forward and dangle, clinking slightly. Harry whispers, "What's your dorm number?"

               Zayn clears his throat carefully. "4E, at the East end of campus."

               Harry's fingers expertly tap at his phone, saving the information. "I'll pick you up at eight then." Harry gives another blinding smile, dimples forming on both cheeks, and Zayn responds with a slight smile of his own.

               "Okay."

 

 

               Occasionally, throughout the rest of the class, Harry slips Zayn folded up pieces of paper with random doodles or facts about sea creatures scribbled on them, and Zayn slips the notes into the inside pocket of his binder for safe keeping. When Zayn skates back to his dorm after class, his shoulders don't feel so heavy, and he cruises along the sidewalks smoothly, humming along to Swim Deep's "She Changes the Weather."

*****

               Zayn huffs in frustration, and leans against his tiny bathroom sink before taking up his comb again. He pushes his hair up and back, running his fingers over it quickly to hold the shape. He takes a long look in the mirror and decides it'll have to do. He goes back into his room and steps into his ripped black jeans, pulling his Misfits T-shirt over his head, and shrugging on his worn leather jacket. He sees Harry's jacket on his desk chair, and decides to bring it in case it gets too cold later (which is extremely likely). He looks at his watch: 7:51.  He sits down on his bed, playing with his rings, before getting up to check his hair in the mirror one more time.

               He's fixing a fly away when he hears knocking on his door. He takes a quick step back from the mirror and smoothes out his clothing. He rolls his eyes at himself, and then goes to open the door.

               "Hi!" Harry greets him cheerfully with the same dimpled smile as before. He's wearing an unbuttoned black pea coat, a Pink Floyd t-shirt, patched up jeans, and the familiar tattered boots.

             "Hello," Zayn responds. Harry's staring at him, and Zayn doesn't miss the way his eyes drag down and up his body, making a warmth spread across Zayn’s chest. He’s been told enough times by enough people, that he knows he’s an attractive guy, but Harry looking at him feels different from random people eyeing him on the street. He tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and clears his throat.

               Seeming to finally notice the quiet, Harry's gaze flicks back up to his face. "Sorry, are you, uh...are you ready to go?" A slight blush creeps across Harry's face, and he bites down on his bottom lip. Zayn enjoys that for once, it’s Harry who’s embarrassed.

               "Yah, let me just grab my key." Zayn grabs his tie-dye printed key and leather wallet, shoving it into his back pocket.

               "It's a short walk to the car," Harry says as Zayn locks the door behind them. "I'm in the parking lot just around the corner." Zayn nods.

               They walk in silence for a few minutes, until Harry clears his throat and says, "You look really good, by the way."

               Zayn feels his cheeks warm, and he silently wishes they’d stop doing that every time Harry gives even the faintest compliment. It’s honestly embarrassing. "Thanks. I like your shirt."

               "One of my absolute favorite bands."

               "Me, too. I mean they should be; I've got a tattoo for them."

               Harry's mouth quirks up, "You have tattoos?"

               Zayn nods his head. "Yeah. I guess you wouldn't have seen any, with the weather being shit and all."

               Harry lets out a short laugh. "Are you still upset about the weather then?"

               "Yes. Cold and bitter."

               Harry leans over knocks Zayn's shoulder with his own. "But my jacket's helping a little bit, right?"

               Zayn smiles and looks back up at Harry. "Only a little."

               They make it back to the car, and Zayn walks to the driver's side of the car before realizing his mistake and switching directions.

               "It must be really weird. Being in a new country and all that."

               Zayn sits down in the passenger seat and shrugs his shoulders. "It's just, like, little things I suppose. Like, I'm still getting used to the time difference and it takes me forever to count out change for something. And the food isn't the same. Everything's just... different."

               Harry replies, "Yah. Different's not always bad though." Zayn holds Harry's gaze for a moment before nodding and turning back to put his seat belt on. Harry starts the ignition and reaches into the center console, picking up his iPod and quickly tuning to a song Zayn's never heard before. It's eclectic with a mixture of acoustic guitars and odd effects; a man gruffly sings with a thick accent.

               "Oh my god, you're not one of those hipster types are you?" Harry laughs lightly, turning the wheel and keeping his attention on the road. Zayn finds it much easier to talk when Harry's eyes are diverted elsewhere.

               "You can pick out something else if you'd like."

               "No, no. I'm already trying an array of new things, might as well just add one more." A few moments pass, and Zayn says, "I seriously can't understand what the fuck he’s saying though."

               Harry lets out a burst of laughter, and his nose scrunches up. Despite himself, Zayn thinks it's cute. "It's alright, mate. Me either."

 

               They spend the rest of the ride to the party in relative silence, staying quiet except to comment on the new song playing or ask who it's by. When they arrive at the house, Zayn can hear the music pouring out, and he immediately loses the easiness he felt during the car ride. Harry undoes his seat belt and gets out of the car. He looks back to Zayn and sees he hasn't moved. Zayn thinks his worry must be evident on his face because Harry leans back in the car.

               "Hey, Zayn, you alright?"

               Zayn looks towards the house again, before turning his attention back towards the hole at the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, yeah. I just...I don't really know anybody."

               "That's okay. I basically know everyone, and I'll stay with you the whole night. That alright?" Harry gives him an encouraging smile.

               Zayn considers his options for a moment before agreeing. He's supposed to be enjoying his time abroad, experiencing the culture, and it's not like he has a ride back home now, anyways. "Yah, sure. Thanks, Harry."

               "It's no burden to me." Zayn smiles to himself and steps out of the car, putting on the red plaid jacket.

 

               When they walk into the house, the music becomes exponentially louder. Zayn halts for a second, giving himself time to take it all in, and feels Harry's hand rest on the small of his back. Zayn gives him a small smile, but the touch does little to subside his apprehension. Harry leans in close, but Zayn can't smell any cinnamon over the strong aroma of alcohol and stale sweat.

               "Let's go find my friends, yah?"

               Zayn doesn't bother trying to answer, just nods and follows when Harry moves forward, hands digging into his jacket pockets.  They make their way through the packed hallway, Harry giving a nearly continuous chorus of "Hello’s” until they make it to what seems to be the living room, and he raises his hand up in a wave and shouts a drawn out, "Aye!"

               Zayn follows his gaze and sees two boys raise their hands in response and work their way towards them. The boys hug and exchange greetings.

               Harry places his hand on Zayn's shoulder. "Lads, this is Zayn. And Zayn," he gestures to his friends, "this is Louis and Liam."

               "Ah, so this is Zayn." Zayn looks back at Harry, slightly confused. "Harry here's been talking about you nonstop." Louis has a smirk on his face and his eyes are narrowed, gauging Zayn's reaction.

               Harry shoves Louis playfully before raising his voice to be heard over the music. "I'm gonna go get us some drinks, then. Be right back." Zayn makes a move to protest, but Harry's already turned around, maneuvering his way to the kitchen.

               "So, we hear you're an Art major, Zayn," Liam yells over the crowd and thumping music. He has wide, brown eyes and an earnest, amused expression on his face that Zayn can’t quite reconcile.

               "Yah, and that you like sea animals?" Louis' grinning wide, mischievous, and Liam hits his stomach with his free hand.

               "I'm sorry, what?" The turning in his stomach Zayn's felt since first stepping out of Harry's car grows, and he begins to feel nauseated.

               Louis leans in, "Sea animals. Your love for them. That's...interesting."

               Liam rolls his eyes. "Oh come on, Louis, be nice to the poor lad." Zayn scoots himself back, becoming more and more aware of the panic that's running through his body. Harry comes back, two beers in hand and reaches out to give one to Zayn, but he doesn't move to accept it. "You're right, Harry. Zayn here is something else."

               Harry smiles at Zayn in response, and Zayn can taste his anger in his throat, feel it tightening his chest. He turns on his heel and begins hastily making his way out of the house, shouldering people aside.

               "Zayn? Zayn! What's wrong?" Zayn hears Harry yelling over the noise, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate, just continues pushing his way through the crowd. When he reaches the outside front, chilly air hits him, but it does nothing to cool him off, and the drop in noise level only makes him acutely aware of how hard he's breathing, how fast his heart is pumping. "Zayn, please, stop! What happened? What’ve I done?" Zayn turns back to see Harry scrambling down the front steps. Zayn pulls at the sleeves of the jacket tearing it off and shoves it into Harry's chest.

               "I don't need your fucking pity jacket, and I don't need your fucking pity friends! I don't need anything from you!" Zayn can feel the blood rushing to his face and his neck tense. Harry attempts to take a step closer, but Zayn throws up his hands, separating them, and stopping Harry immediately. "No! Don’t ever talk to me again, Harry!" He stops to breathe for a second, and then in a lower tone adds, "You're disgusting."

               Harry's mouth is hanging slightly open, and he looks utterly bewildered and hurt. Zayn doesn't allow himself to think about the latter, and instead turns around and walks away. He's nearly at the end of the driveway when a voice calls his name. He ignores it until he feels someone grab his arm, and he spins around quickly.

               "What?" he spits. He sees that it's Niall and immediately regrets not being able to control his temper. He breathes deeply trying to ease some of the tension in his body. "Sorry, Niall. I didn't know it was you."

               Niall puts his hands on Zayn's shoulders. "Hey, It's alright. You okay?" Zayn feels his eyes begin to water, so he looks up, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth, trying to push down the awful feeling that's rising in his gut and constricting his throat. "You need a ride home?" Zayn looks down to Niall's face. It's much more serious and a stark contrast to the usual playful expression Zayn sees him with in class.

               Zayn doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. Niall wraps his arm around Zayn's shoulder and leads him back to his car. On the ride home Niall tells Zayn about his day and the music he's been listening to lately. The initial shock of the situation has subsided along with his anger, and now Zayn just feels a deep, dull ache permeating throughout his body- a recognition of what he feared would happen after moving all along, whether it came from his new surroundings or a charming boy.

               When they reach Zayn's dorm Niall lingers.

               "Are you sure you're okay by yourself?"

               "Yah. Don't worry about it. And uh, thanks for helping me out tonight. I really appreciate it."

               "Ah, that's what mates are for." Niall hugs him, and Zayn breathes in a couple slow breaths before letting go. Niall begins walking away and shouts, "I'll see you in class tomorrow, then!"

               "See you then! Take it easy!" Zayn responds, waving.

                Niall turns, walking backward with an easy grin on his face. "Always do, mate. Always do."

 

 

               Zayn flops down on his bed, and lets the choked sobs he'd been holding back rack his throat. He pulls his t-shirt up to cover his face and wipes at his tears, the culmination of missing his home and family, trying to adjust to life in a completely different country, and being lied to. He had been such an idiot- an absolute fool to believe that Harry was who he appeared to be. Zayn had just been so damn charmed. He thinks back to earlier in the day. How giddy and warm he felt when Harry slipped him a note. It's sickens him. Meanwhile, Harry had probably been forcing himself to hold back outrageous laughter. He'd been mocking Zayn, making an idiot out of him the entire time. But it wasn't enough to enjoy it by himself. He had to share it and humiliate him in public.

               Zayn pauses for a moment, sniffling and pressing his shirt to his face. No, he had done this to himself. In between dimpled smiles and sea animal facts he'd forgotten to watch out for himself, to be wary of who was taking an interest in him. He really only has himself to blame. But Harry's still an asshole. An asshole to whom Zayn had given his trust to uncharacteristically easily and then shattered. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sit for a while, watching the people pass on the streets around them, and Zayn pictures them all in individual comic strips, meandering around in their stories. Sometimes they come together, making connections; like when the little girl buying ice cream runs back to her waiting mother, or the hurried, disheveled man runs into the woman reading her book, and a new scene altogether is created. He thinks back to the day he crashed into Harry and wonders if they inadvertently created a new comic of their own, too. He wonders where the plot’s going.

               The day after the party goes by relatively easy. Zayn still feels a dull ache in his bones, but he focuses his energy into the landscape he's painting for class: paying extra attention to the strokes of his paint brushes as he blends the colors into one seamless nighttime seascape, the dark ocean and sky seemingly fading into each other and becoming one. In Life Drawing, Niall provides an easy distraction, chatting to him as they work on their portraits. It turns out Niall knows absolutely nothing about art and is really pretty terrible, but as it seems with everything else, he likes to make a good time out of it, and Zayn both admires and appreciates that in equal parts. Niall insists that it's not healthy for Zayn to be spending so much time alone, so they get drive into town and eat at a local pizza place.

 

               As Niall's digging into his third slice he mumbles through strings of cheese, "So are we gonna talk about last night?"

               Zayn picks at the crust of his pizza. "Do we have to?"

               "No, 'course not, but I mean if you want to, Dr. Niall's listening."

               Zayn snorts at the new title, but smiles. He takes another bite of pizza and chews it thoroughly before asking, "Do you know Harry? The guy I was...arguing with yesterday?

               Niall pops a piece of green pepper in his mouth and shrugs his shoulders casually. "Oh yah, everybody knows him. And everybody loves him. Well, everyone except for you I guess."

               "So he's, like, normally a good person?"

               "By all accounts, yeah. I mean, most people think he's hot, and I'm pretty sure the cocky bastard knows it, but besides that, he's a nice guy."

               Zayn shakes his head. "I just...I don't see how that could be, Niall. Before last night I thought he was, too, but then his friends were talking about stuff I told him and... I don't know.” He takes a piece of chicken from off his pizza before continuing. “He just seemed so genuine."

               "It's the dimples."

               "I know!" Zayn huffs exasperatedly, and Niall laughs. Zayn settles back in his seat while Niall picks up another slice.

               "Maybe you just misinterpreted the conversation."

               Zayn chews on his lip, thinking. "It's like there's two versions of him. Maybe all the kindness is just for show.” Raising his eyebrows and tilting his mouth up into a melancholy smile he adds, “Maybe he has the whole school charmed." Niall shrugs his shoulder and tilts his head sympathetically before eating half of his pizza slice in one bite.

*****

               The next day Zayn ditches his Psychology class in favor of working on his art projects. After hours of work, the progress on his landscape comes to a halt when he struggles to find the right muted hues for the coastal trees and cliffs. He sets the canvas down with a sigh, deciding to work on it later. He pulls out the portrait he's been slowly adding to and surveys it before taking out his pencils and beginning to work. He loses track of time as he adds the right lines and shading to his grandmother's face, the easy motions soothing him and allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of his family back home. When he finally glances at the clock, he realizes his Life Drawing class started five minutes ago. Zayn rushes to clean up his work station, and as he's putting away his canvas he catches a glimpse of another student's landscape- a forest of tall trees in the fall, bright emerald and fiery red, with a hazy fog settling in the background- and his thoughts flicker to images of Harry- his playful smile and bright eyes. Zayn shakes his head, willing the images away, and roughly swings his backpack over his shoulders, making the short walk to Life Drawing.

 

 

 

 

 

               When Zayn gets home from dinner, he finds a folded piece of paper lying on the ground just behind his door. He picks it up, and sees "Zayn" written in slanted, loopy letters and immediately recognizes the style from the notes Harry had passed him in class. He doesn't bother opening it and tosses it in the trash. He misses, but he's too exhausted to pick it up, so he leaves it and instead takes a long shower, letting it soothe him until the warm water runs out.

*****

               "Mate, you could not be more shit at this if you tried."

               "I told you, Niall! I don't play sports in, like, real life."

               "You've made that painfully apparent. You're always riding on your little skateboard; I thought you must have some sort of coordination. Clearly I was mistaken."

               Zayn throws his arms up. "Little skateboard? You've crossed the line, man," he says while pointing a threatening finger. "You do not insult Lyla."

               Niall laughs so hard he begins cackling. "Oh for fuck's sake! You named the damn thing? Oh, I'm so frightened. Look at me, I'm shivering in me knickers!" Niall crosses his legs awkwardly and begins flinging his arms every which way. Zayn runs towards him and tackles him to the ground. Niall begins yelling in a high pitched voice, "Oh, help me! Help me!" Zayn giggles as he punches Niall lightly a few more times and then rolls off him, settling next to him on the grass and breathing hard.

               "I'm never exercising again." Niall laughs and stands up, offering Zayn his hand. Zayn grabs it and hoists himself up. "You wanna come with me to pick up my boxes?” Zayn asks. “They're supposed to have arrived this morning."

               "Yah, sure mate. But I expect full compensation."

               Zayn scoffs. "In the form of what?"

               Niall thinks seriously for a moment. "I'm gonna have to say an extra-large combination pizza with all the extra toppings I want."

               Zayn gives him a feigned serious look. "I'm limiting you to two extra toppings." Niall grimaces. "I'm sure the pizza place and your stomach will thank me.

               "Well if it's my stomach you're worried about, don't be." He rubs his stomach. "This baby's made of steel." He flexes his arms. "Just like the guns." Zayn laughs and rolls his eyes, shoving Niall. Niall giggles back, his smile scrunching up his eyes.

               Zayn runs his hands across the scruff on his jaw nervously, but tries to keep his tone light. "Hey, uh, thanks for being chill about everything before. With Harry. And, y'know, for not being a shitty person."

               Niall holds a hand over his heart and gives an exaggerated look of embarrassed flattery. "Zayn, you're makin' me blush." He ruffles Zayn's hair a bit before Zayn manages to slap it away. "Anyway, us weirdos have to stick together right?"

 

               Niall sets the boxes he's wheeling down on the ground in front of Zayn's door. "Do you want some help setting stuff up?"

               Zayn sets his own boxes down, leaning on them to take a break. He scrapes his fingers lightly along the box, realizing this will be the first time anyone has come into his room.

               "Um, yah, sure, just uh... do me a favor and don't laugh at anything, alright?” Zayn plays with the rumpled edge of tape on the seam of a box. “'Cause I have, like, some stuff I've drawn and what not hanging up, and I don't really show a lot people that stuff."

               "Bro, don't worry. I would never do that. Plus, if anyone's gonna be laughing at someone's art work, it's gonna be mine. Have you seen my portrait for Life Drawing? Poor Greg, he looks like me nan."

               "I thought it was your nan!"

               "Exactly my point."

               Zayn laughs, shaking his head, and opens the door, picking up his boxes and leading them inside. Niall's eyes are immediately drawn to the mural Zayn has taped to the wall.

               "Jesus Christ, Zayn. This is amazing. You did this yourself?" Zayn nods, a small, proud smile on his lips. "Where is this?"

               "It's home." Zayn looks across the wall, taking in the exaggerated lines of the pier and ocean, the shanty houses laid out by the shore with crooked fences.

               "This is where you live?" Niall turns back to him. "Why the fuck are you over here?"

               Zayn laughs lightly at his candor. "Honestly? It's really fucking expensive to go to school in California, and I got a scholarship from the art program to go here. Figured it might be cool to live in another country, get inspired by a new world and all. What about you, Niall? Why are you so far away from home?"

               "Scholarship from the art program," Niall deadpans, and Zayn laughs, covering his mouth his hand. "Seriously, though, they've got an amazing music program here, and I plan on being a producer, so, it just seemed right." They sit in silence for a moment, looking at Zayn's spray-painted home. "We better get started on these boxes, then, yah?”

               Zayn agrees and starts tearing the tape off the first box. He peers inside and sees that this one holds stacks of clothing, and he’s never been so relieved to a pile of his own t-shirts in his life. He shoves his face into the box, feeling the soft cotton and smelling the nostalgic fragrance of the fabric softener his mother always buys- one that he can’t manage to find here. When lifts his head back up, Niall is giving him a warm, knowing smile. Zayn returns it and begins unpacking the box and setting everything into drawers. Niall turns out to have the box with all of his posters and wall decorations. He asks about the different bands' names he sees printed and various ticket stubs from concerts. Zayn tells him that back home, he loved going to shows with his small group of friends, blowing off steam and getting sweaty in the pit. He'd ride his longboard down to the beach every day after school and bring along his notebook to draw whatever seemed interesting. During the summer he'd walk along the streets and listen to the musicians playing odd and sometimes homemade instruments. Niall asks him about his "Keep Santa Cruz Weird" sticker, and Zayn tells him it's basically the city's slogan, that you can meet any type of person there on any given day.

               Niall tells him about his hometown as well- tells him stories of him and his dad going to Derby matches and drinking pints with his friends on as many nights as they could manage. He explains that life is a lot slower in Mullingar, and that he felt lost in the fast paced city at first, too.

               “It took me a little while to adjust, but I’ve got loads of mates now.” He pauses from taping up a poster to look back at Zayn with an encouraging smile. “That’ll happen for you, too, y’know. It just takes time. Don’t worry about it.”

 

 

 

 

 

               When they get tired they take a break, and Zayn orders Niall his pizza and some chicken wings for himself. Niall says that if chicken's his favorite, he'll have to take Zayn to a place called "Nandos" sometime, where you can put any kind of sauce you want on it. Zayn tells him it sounds like heaven. They stay up late eating and talking lazily, empty boxes tossed to the corner of the room, and fall asleep next to each other on Zayn's floor.

*****

               On Tuesday, Zayn forces himself to go to Psychology. He takes his normal seat at the back of the classroom and goes about his usual routine of readying his notes and taking out a pencil. When he looks up and sees Harry, Zayn offers him only a quick glance before looking past him and then back down, determined not to pay him any attention.

               "Alright, everybody get into your groups!" the teacher announces. "I'm going to give you about 30 minutes at the start of each class to work on your projects, but remember that this is an outside of class assignment, so don’t expect to be able to finish it in class. I expect the noise level to be kept at a minimum."

               Zayn watches as everyone gathers into small groups of two or three. Confused, he walks down to the front of the classroom.

               "Excuse me, Professor? Sorry, but there was nothing about a group assignment on the webpage. I was sick last class."

               "The document wouldn't upload, so I had to pass out a hard copy." He shuffles around to his desk and flips through numerous stacks of paper before pulling out a single sheet and handing it to Zayn. "Read this. It'll tell you all the instructions, but right now you need to find someone who hasn't already found a group."

               "That'd be me, I suppose." Zayn feels a slight shiver travel across his neck before he turns around and sees Harry looking back at him. The teacher hands Harry another copy of the instructions, and Zayn looks around the room, hoping to find at least one other straggler that's been left without a group. His search is unfortunately without success.

               Zayn sighs and walks past Harry to his desk, and Harry follows behind him. He sits beside Zayn, and Zayn turns his chair forward trying to get as much space between them as possible. He opens his notebook to a blank page and begins doodling, trying his best to ignore Harry and the task at hand.

               "Well, I guess first we have to pick the pioneering psychologist we're going to research. Do you have anyone in mind that you'd prefer?"

               Zayn doesn't look up. "Nope."

               Harry taps the eraser of his pencil against his textbook. "Solomon Asch did some pretty interesting experiments. We could do him."

               "Fine."

               "Okay. Let's start with the reading about him in the book then, yah? Is that alright?"

               "It's great," Zayn says evenly. He opens his book flipping to index, looking up "Asch, Solomon" for the section's page numbers.

               "I'll take the first half and you take the second. That way we can get through more."

               Zayn nods silently, turns to the correct page and begins reading, taking notes of what he thinks might be important as he goes. He's read through about two passages when Harry starts speaking hurriedly.

               "Look Zayn, I know you're angry with me, but I really am so sor-"

               "Read the book, Harry."

               Zayn chances a glance at him and immediately regrets it. Harry's face is pained, and Zayn feels a sharp shot of sympathy run through him. He buries his face back into his textbook and resolves not to look Harry in the face again for the rest of class. Harry doesn’t speak again, and when the teacher says work time is up, he looks at Zayn hesitantly before getting up and moving towards the front of the classroom to take a seat.

              

               Two hours later the teacher announces that class is dismissed, and Zayn keeps his head down as he packs up his books and walks out the door. He hears Harry call, "Zayn! Zayn!" after him, but doesn't stop skating.

               "Zayn, it's about the project!"

               Zayn groans and flips up his board, turning around. "What about it?"

               "We need to work on it outside of class. When can I come over?"

               "Why the fuck would you come over to my dorm?" Zayn says, shocked and annoyed.

               Harry flinches, but his tone remains carefully even. "My roommate's girlfriend is in town for the week, and I'm basically exiled from the room unless absolutely necessary."

               Zayn rolls his eyes. "Meet me in the library at five."

               Harry nods. "Okay, Zayn. See you then."

               His chest tightens at hearing his name in Harry’s voice, but Zayn doesn't say anything. He only turns around and gets back on his board to make his way over to the cafeteria to eat lunch with Niall.

 

 

 

*****

               Zayn arrives at the library ten minutes late. Harry's waiting outside, scribbling intently in a notebook, but when he sees Zayn coming he closes it quickly and zips it up in his messenger bag.

               They walk into the library wordlessly, and Harry leads him to a back corner where multiple rooms are separated from the library and set up with a large desk, chairs, and its' own computer inside. Harry holds open the door for Zayn explaining, "I saved us a room, so we wouldn't have to deal with time restraints on the computers and whatnot."

               Zayn sets down his things and sits at the end of the table. Harry seats himself a couple of chairs away. The only noise in the room is Harry's books softly sliding against the table as he unpacks his bag and the low hum of the room's heater that seems to be getting louder and more distracting with every passing moment. Zayn can feel the tension growing in the room. Cutting through the silence Harry says,

               "Zayn, I really just want you to know how incredibly sorry I am. I didn't mean-"

               Zayn keeps his eyes focused on his books. "I don't want to talk to you, Harry."  The name tastes sour in Zayn's mouth.

               "I understand, but-"

               "Harry," Zayn says sharply. He looks up, Harry's face is contorted like before, but this time more desperate. Zayn feels the same pain as earlier echo through him.

               "Did you read the letter?" Harry asks tentatively. Zayn averts his attention, watches a student hunt for a book through the glass window. "I know I'm not in any position to ask anything of you, but could you please read it?" Harry pleads. "I hate you being angry with me."

               "I'm not angry with you," Zayn states determinedly, turning back to Harry. "I just want nothing to do with you." Harry turns his head down, defeated, and nods. "So let's just keep any talking about the project, alright?"

               "Okay." Harry whispers from behind his arms, and it's so quiet Zayn almost doesn't catch it, almost doesn't believe he said it except for the pang of hurt he feels in his own chest.

 

               Three hours later and Zayn is pacing back and forth in his room. He rubs his eyes, tired and bleary from hours of research and trying not to look at Harry. He's torn. He wants to get over Harry, knows it should be easy after the betrayal, but something inside of Zayn won't let him. It nags at him and sends quick flashes of his memories with Harry through his mind at the most inconvenient times, or rather all the time. He stares at the letter, lying seemingly inoffensive on his floor, afraid that if he opens the letter, he'll be sucked in by Harry's charming lies again. On the other hand, he’s curious as to what Harry could have written that would make him believe Zayn could still want to be friends with him; what the words were that Harry had to say, but Zayn wouldn't let him speak.

               Curiosity and the nagging in his brain win out, and Zayn bends down to pick up the letter, untouched from the first time he'd tried to rid himself of it. He stares at his name scrawled out on the paper, wondering if he's going to regret this decision when he's read the last line of what Harry's written.

_Dear Zayn,_

_I apologize profusely for upsetting you. It truly was not my intention. I'm sorry I made you go to that party. I should've realized that you wouldn't be comfortable, but I was selfish and inconsiderate. I'm also sorry for leaving you alone when I promised I wouldn't. I'm sorry for breaking that promise. I'm sorry that I told Louis and Liam about your love for sea animals. I didn't mean to make you feel vulnerable. I wanted to share things about someone who I think is so interesting, but I should’ve asked you first- I’m sorry. I'm sorry for not realizing my actions were hurting you. I was thinking of you, but only in the wrong way. I wanted to spend time with you, Zayn, but I did it on my terms. I hope you can forgive me because I would still love to spend time with you, if you'll let me._

_Sincerely,  
Harry_

               Zayn goes through the note a few times, his chest tightening every time he reads, "I wanted to spend time with you...would still love to spend time with you..." Zayn thinks back to the argument, and tries to replay all the night’s occurrences objectively in his head. Then he hadn't brought him to the party to make fun of him? Hadn't told Louis and Liam about their conversations to tease him? The lines keep echoing in his mind, and he hears them replay in Harry's voice with his smooth accent.

               The tightening in his chest grows, and Zayn’s body begins to itch, like he has to move, now. Zayn has to find him, has to know if Harry means everything he wrote. Zayn grabs his coat from off the chair and heads to the door before realizing that he has no idea where Harry is or the number of his dorm. He contemplates going back to the library or waiting in the dining hall, but he's knows it's a long shot; the campus is expansive, and the odds of him catching Harry are small. He has too much energy to wait in his room, though, so he rides over to the art building instead.

               He rides swiftly, pushing off the pavement with his right leg, the repetitive motion giving him something to focus on and put effort into while the brisk wind washes over his face and hands. When he walks into the building Niall's sitting at his own station, working on his portrait project. Zayn sits down next to him and pulls his sketchbook out of his backpack.

              "Zayn! How's the craic, bro?"

             “Umm....I don’t know? Stuff happened. A lot actually." Niall tilts his head and gives Zayn a concerned look and puts down the pencil he’s holding. "Harry and I got partnered for a project in our Psychology class."

               "Aw, fuck. Sorry, mate. How's that working out?" Zayn relays to him the day's events, and watches Niall's head bob up and down in agreement, and his eyes grow wide when Zayn tells him what was in the note. "Shit. What are you gonna do?"

               Zayn shakes his head, overwhelmed. "I don't know, dude. I don't know."

               "Well, you like him right?"

               "I...I mean I think...I think he's cool enough, I guess..." Zayn stutters.

               Niall rolls his eyes. "You think he's fit, right? And you have a good laugh?"

               Zayn sighs deeply, frustrated with the situation. "Yah, but I don't trust him, Niall. I hardly believe what he wrote in the letter. What if he's lying?"

               "He seems pretty sincere, Zayn. And maybe that's a risk you just have to take? It would be worth it, wouldn't it? And hey, if he does fuck up again, I'll be right here, ready to kick his pasty ass if you want."

               "Niall, what the fuck are you talking about? Pasty ass? You're the one who's Irish!"

               "And don't you forget it," Niall says, swinging his arm around Zayn.

               Zayn replies with a teasing smile, "As if you'd let me."

 

 

 

*****

                Zayn carries the letter with him all day Wednesday, and it burns a hole in his back pocket as he sits through his classes and eats lunch. By the time dinner comes around, he’s grown antsy, and nearly jumps out of his seat when he sees Harry across the room, picking out his meal.

               Niall lets out an annoyed huff. “Jesus Christ, Zayn. Just go talk to him.” Zayn makes a pained sound, and silently curses himself for being so pathetic. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop being ridiculous and go!” Niall shoves him, and Zayn shoves him back. They scuffle for a few moments before Zayn puts his hands up is surrender.

               “Fine! Fine! I’m going! Now that I look thoroughly disheveled…”

               Niall gives him a bored look, so Zayn begins walking toward where Harry is paying for his food. He starts to give up and turns around, but Niall gives him a threatening look (or as much of one as he can manage) and points back at Harry insistently. Zayn groans quietly and turns back around. He takes a deep breath and walks the last couple of steps to Harry’s side.

               “So, I read your note….thing, or whatever.” Harry’s head jolts up in surprise. Zayn mentally smacks himself on the head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Zayn considers turning back, aborting the mission.

               “No, it’s fine. I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to be talking to me that’s all.” Zayn stands still and quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. “So uh….you read it? The note, I mean?” They both look to the side and realize they’re blocking the line, so they take a few steps forward and sit next to each other at an empty table.

               “Yah, I did.”  Zayn takes another deep breath, willing himself to continue the conversation. “Did you mean what you wrote?”

               Harry’s eyes go wide, full of the same genuineness as before. “Yah, Zayn! I swear I did. I feel so awful for being so rude, for dragging you to that party…”

               “Harry, I’m not upset about the party itself.”

               Harry looks at him confused. “What are you upset about then?”

               Zayn mirrors his expression. “Your friends, Harry, and you…. I thought…” He scuffs his boot against the linoleum floor. “I thought you guys were making fun of me.”  
                 
               Harry’s jaw drops before moving around helplessly, trying to find the right words. “No, Zayn, I swear we weren’t. Louis can be a bit abrasive, but he means well. And Liam would never do that. Oh my god, Zayn, I had no idea you thought… Shit. I’m sorry we made you feel that way, but I swear that we weren’t. If anything they were teasing me.”

               Zayn’s dumbfounded. When he was planning all the different routes this conversation could take and how’d he respond, this possibility had never crossed his mind. “Teasing _you_? For what?”

               A small smile plays across Harry’s lips as he looks up toward the ceiling and then back to Zayn, shaking his head slightly. “For talking about you all the time.” He face goes sullen quickly, and he gives Zayn the same intense eye contact Zayn’s come to associate with him. “I really can’t apologize enough for being so shit before.” He rests his hand on Zayn’s hesitantly, looking up to him to make sure it’s alright. Zayn doesn’t move away.

               “Look, Harry. I want to believe everything you’re saying. I really do. But I just…I’d be lying if I said I don’t doubt you.”

               “I know, and I completely understand. I’d really like it if you’d give me the chance to prove it to you, though.”

               Zayn studies him for a moment, trying to gauge where he should take this conversation, before finally asking the question he’s been wondering all along. “Why are you so adamant about this? Why are you putting in so much effort?”

               Harry shrugs his shoulders lazily. “I dunno. ‘Suppose you just seem incredible.”

               Goosebumps raise on Zayn’s arms and neck, and he’d think it was weird if he didn’t feel something in him pushing him to tell Harry the exact same thing.

*****

               The next day in Psychology Harry stays seated next to Zayn in the back after the teacher ends the group work session. He passes Zayn more notes with facts about turtles, and this time Zayn slides him one back, explaining the origin of the idiom, ”Busting your chops.” Harry laughs after he finishes reading it, and Zayn smiles as he watches Harry tuck the small piece of paper into his own binder.

*****

               On Friday, after they’re done with their usual couple hours of research, Harry asks,

               “Do you wanna hang out for a while? I figured we could get something to eat and watch a bunch of stuff on Netflix or play Scrabble or something.”

               “I thought your roommate and his girlfriend were holed up in your dorm?” Zayn says with a tilted grin.

               Harry laughs lightly and bites down on his lower lip. “Actually, they decided to go somewhere for the weekend. They left this morning.” He’s standing with his hands in the pockets of his coat, feet turned in.

               “Well with an offer of food, Netflix, and Scrabble, I really don’t know how I could refuse.”

               Harry smiles widely. “Cool. What do you feel like eating tonight?”

               Zayn scrunches up his face in mock concentration. “Chinese sounds pretty good.”

               “Chinese it is, then.”

              

               They gorge on lemon chicken and fried rice as they play a round of scrabble. By the end, Zayn’s extremely full and has managed to beat Harry by nearly double the points. Harry’s pouting.

               “How did that happen? How are you so clever?”

               “I honestly usually don’t win. I probably just got lucky with picking my tiles. Either that or you’re worse at scrabble than my fourteen year old sister. It’s probably the latter.”

               Harry gives him a playful shove, and the spoonful of rice Zayn was about eat spills out on to the board. Harry’s mouth falls open in mock disbelief.

               “Look at what you’ve done! You’ve made an absolute mess, Zayn.”

               “That’s what you get for being a sore loser. You’re an absolute child.” Harry sticks his tongue out at Zayn for good measure, and Zayn rolls his eyes. He picks up a couple of napkins and helps clean up the board, wiping grains of rice off the letter tiles.

               “What movie do you wanna watch?”

               Zayn thinks for a moment. “Are you in the mood for a comedy?”

               “Sure,” Harry replies eagerly.

               “Okay, ‘Cause there’s this movie that’s insanely cheesy, but hilarious. Classic eighties. It’s about vampires- The Lost Boys. Have you seen it?” Harry shakes his head. “Cool, we’ll watch it then. It was filmed in Santa Cruz, where I’m from.”

               “Oh, really? Cool! I’m excited to see it then.”

               Zayn lays down next to Harry on the floor where his laptop is placed in front of them. During the movie, when Zayn gets cold and shivers, Harry takes his comforter and lays it across them both, giving Zayn a warm smile before turning back to the screen. Zayn finds himself more interested in watching Harry’s reactions to what’s going on onscreen than actually watching the movie, and he laughs when Harry twists his face in disgust at the end of the movie, when the vampires are being slain and blood is spewing everywhere.

               The credits begin to roll, so Zayn rests his head on his arms, neck sore from holding the awkward position so long.

               “So, what do you think?”

               Harry turns to his side, resting his head on his hand, and with a grin he sarcastically replies, “A true cinematic masterpiece.”

               They talk back and forth for a while, telling what their favorite parts were and what was just too cheesy for them to handle before Zayn gets up, pulling the blanket off of him and stretching out his arms and back.

               “Well, I should be heading back to my dorm. It’s kinda late.”

               “Do you want me to walk you back? It’s really dark out, and you’re all the way across campus.”

               “Nah, it’s alright. I’ll be good.”

               Harry’s mouth twists, and Zayn knows he wants to insist, but he doesn’t. Instead Harry says, “Alright, but text me when you get back. Okay?” He scribbles down his number on a scrap of paper and hands it to Zayn.

               “I think all those vampires have made you paranoid, Harry.” Zayn side eyes him. “Who knows…I may already be one.” Zayn hisses and makes claws with his hands, scratching at the air.

               “That would explain why you look so pained in the morning in Psychology,” Harry quips, and Zayn gives a knowing shrug. “I’ll see you on Monday then?”

               “Oh, yah,” Zayn replies. He hadn’t realized that the weekend means no working on the project which means no Harry. He finds himself disappointed at the realization. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

               Zayn offers to help Harry clean up, but Harry insists he’ll take care of it. They exchange quick goodbyes, and Zayn walks back to his dorm, thinking about how easy it was to hang out with Harry. When he gets back to his room, he takes Harry’s number out of his pocket and texts, “Had to fight off a couple vampires, but I made it back.” As he’s changing into sweats and a sweatshirt, he hears his phone go off, signaling he has a new text. He sees Harry’s name flash on the screen, and he smiles.

               “Glad to hear it :) sleep tight! xx”

*****

               Zayn spends the entirety of Saturday in a near vegetative state listening to music, drawing, and watching movies, only getting up to grab granola bars and Goldfish from his closet to snack on. Whenever he draws he finds himself drawing parts of Harry: the furrow of his brow and the way he tugs on his lip when he’s concentrating, his wide mouth and scrunched up nose when he _really_ laughs, his broad shoulders and obvious collar bones. He’s just got nice lines, Zayn insists to himself. He’s aesthetically pleasing- Zayn can admit that to himself. It’s what’s on the inside he’s still not sure about.

*****

              The next week goes by as expected with Harry and Zayn working on their project and Niall asking for updates on how it’s going. He’s come to believe he’s some sort of sage now and has taken to calling himself “The Love Doctor”. Zayn absolutely refuses to use the title first, because it’s creepy, and second, because there is nothing of the sort happening between them. Zayn’s just started becoming comfortable with being Harry’s friend, let alone anything more.

 

               After they’re done working on their research project on Friday, Harry asks him if he’d like to hang out the next day.

               “Sure. What do you want to do?”

               “Well, actually it’s a bit of a surprise.” Harry’s biting his lip, trying to suppress a grin, but when Zayn looks at his eyes he can see a hint of nervousness.

               Zayn looks at him warily. “What kind of surprise?”

               “Don’t worry. I checked with Niall. He said you would really like it, and that it was a good idea.”

               Zayn thinks for a moment before deciding, “Okay.” If it all goes awry he can berate Niall later.

               Harry clasps his hands together. “Great! I’ll pick you up at eleven then!”

               Zayn smiles back at his excitement. “Alright, see ya tomorrow, Harry.”

*****

               The next morning Harry arrives a few minutes early, and Zayn answers the door only half ready.

               “Ugh, sorry, man,” he grumbles, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “I forgot to set my alarm.”

               “It’s alright. Our schedule’s flexible.”

               “Is that a hint as to where we’re going?” Zayn asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

               Harry smiles back. “I suppose. Maybe. Not much of one though, is it?” Zayn laughs lightly and shakes his head. “Good. Because I want it to be a surprise.”

               Zayn realizes Harry’s still standing out in the hallway, and it’d be rude of him to not invite him in.

               “Uh, you can come on in. I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

               Zayn bustles around the room, throwing a beanie on over his flat hair and grabs a sweatshirt and coat to layer over each other. He notices his sketches of Harry on his desk and runs over to close his notebook and slides it under a pile of books before Harry can see what he’s drawn. He sees Harry staring and smiles sheepishly.

               “It’s alright,” Harry assures him. “I’m pretty protective of my stuff, too.”

               “You draw?”

               Harry shakes his head. “No, I uh…write.” Zayn looks at Harry and for the first time, he sees a sliver of doubt in Harry’s otherwise confident demeanor.

               “Like, books or…?”

               “Uh, poetry mostly? But I write short stories sometimes, too. Just whatever comes to mind.”

               Zayn nods in understanding, “That’s cool.”

               A few moments of silence pass between them before Harry says, “Oh, almost forgot. Here.” Harry reaches into his pocket and holds something out for Zayn. Zayn takes it and realizes that it’s a pair of fuzzy socks, black with a skull and crossbones on each side. “Your feet were practically ice when you came over last weekend. I tried to pick something that would match with most of the stuff you wear.”

               Zayn bites his lip, trying to contain his smile. “Thanks, Harry. These are awesome.” Harry smiles at him, and Zayn bends down, taking off the socks he was already wearing and replacing them with his new ones. He wiggles his toes. “Not even the London chill has a chance against these bad boys.”

               Harry laughs. “I’m glad you like them.” Zayn picks up his boots and starts putting them on. “You’ve got a ton of really cool artwork in here. Is it all yours?”

               Zayn nods, continuing to tie his shoes. “Most of it. Some of them are pieces I’ve bought from street artists or friends.”

              “It’s all amazing. You could spend hours looking at everything.” Zayn blushes, but doesn’t look up. He finishes knotting his laces and then stands up. “Ready to go?” Harry asks.

               “Yep! Let’s go see what you’ve got planned, Styles.”

 

               The ride to The Surprise is only about ten minutes, and when they start to get close, Harry insists that Zayn cover his eyes.

               “Are you peeking?”

               “Harry, for the tenth time, no!” says Zayn, laughing.

               “We’ll be there in a few more seconds. But don’t take your hands off your eyes until I say so, alright?”

               “Okay, okay, okay. Geez. So bossy.” Zayn shifts in his seat, anxious and excited to see where they are. He hears Harry shift gears and turn off the car, then unbuckle his seatbelt and open his door. For a panicked moment Zayn thinks Harry is going to leave him there, but then he hears his own door open, and smells a familiar warm cinnamon as Harry reaches across him and undoes his seatbelt as well. Harry places his hands on Zayn’s elbows leading him out of the car, and then turns him slightly. “You’ve really built this up, Harry. I hope it’s good,” Zayn teases.

               “Me, too,” he hears Harry mutter under his breath. “Okay,” he says, now addressing Zayn. “You can open your eyes.

               Zayn blinks at the daytime light for a moment, focusing his eyes, and then reads the massive sign in front of him, “LONDON SEALIFE AQUARIUM”. Zayn’s jaw drops, his hand flies to cover his mouth.

               “Oh my god. Oh my GOD. Oh my god! Dude!” He swivels around to face Harry, who’s surveying his reaction. “Harry! Harry, this is so cool!” Before he realizes it, his arms are wrapped around Harry’s neck, pulling him in for a hug. Harry responds with a small, shocked noise, but wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist. Zayn realizes this is the first time they’ve ever hugged, touched really, and he lets himself linger for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of Harry solid against his chest, before stepping back. “Seriously, Harry,” Zayn says earnestly.” This is, like, so totally awesome.”

               Harry smiles back at him and then wipes at his forehead exaggeratedly, playing for relief. “I’m glad you’re excited.”

               Zayn laughs, a wide smile of his face. “I’m stoked. Really.” They begin walking towards the front doors of the aquarium, and when they get to the ticket booth, Zayn moves to pull out his wallet, but Harry stops him.

               “It’s alright, I got it.”

               Zayn hesitates. “Are you sure? It’s no problem.”

               “Yah, I’m sure. It’s like a thank you, for being such a great project partner and actually keeping me on task.” He laughs lightly. “And, y’know, for trusting me enough to let me surprise you.”

               Zayn smiles and puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Well, I’m really happy I did.”

               Harry smiles back at him, eyes bright and cheerful. “Me, too.”

 

               They spend the rest of the day walking around to the various exhibits because Zayn insists on stopping at every single one, and Harry is glad to indulge him. When they reach the massive jellyfish tank, Zayn stares in wonder, as he always does when he’s at the aquarium. The glass extends from both sides of the room, up the walls, and overhead. Zayn tilts his head back and spins slowly, mesmerized by their languid movements. His attention is pulled away when he sees Harry move beside him and then lay on the floor. Zayn looks around to make sure no one else is around and then joins him, wordlessly. Harry turns his head to smile, and Zayn watches waves of blue, reflected light dance across his skin and flicker over his eyes, turning the green almost electric, before focusing back on the jellyfish.

               Next, they visit the seahorses, and Zayn giggles at them in their little tanks, bobbing around. He’s always found them to be incredibly cute, and in that way they remind him of Niall. They head over to the shark tank, and Zayn takes his time reading all the plaques about the different kinds of sharks and trying to identify them in the tank. He’s enraptured by all the other critters he sees in there, too, swimming along with the sharks and hiding in dark crevices. He loves the way the long strips of kelp sway back and forth with the current of the water creating a soothing atmosphere.

               They go to the touch pools and touch starfish, sea anemone, and a few other critters. It turns out Harry’s never touched a stingray before, and Zayn insists it’s a must. He’s surprised to find that Harry’s a bit scared at first, pulling his hand out of the water when the animal gets close, but Zayn waits with him patiently for another stingray to swim gently by, putting his hand over Harry’s to help guide his hand into the water to touch the soft, suede-like texture of the stingray’s skin. Zayn saves the best for last: the turtle exhibit. Harry asks why turtles are his favorite, and Zayn replies, “I don’t know. I guess they’re just chill dudes. I’ve had a thing for them ever since I was a kid and saw Finding Nemo. I wanted to be just like Squirt.”

               Before Zayn knows it, hours have passed since he first saw the aquarium’s sign, and his stomach is growling. Harry suggests they go get some lunch, and Zayn agrees, “Anything, but seafood.”

               When they reach Harry’s car, Zayn turns to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t really talk much. I hope you weren’t bored.”

               “No, no! I had a really good time. Everything was really interesting. And you were so…captured by everything. I mean, that’s really cool on its own.” Harry shoves his hands into his pockets. “I think a lot of people can’t really do that anymore.”

 

               After eating sandwiches, chocolate shakes, and fries, Harry and Zayn practically waddle back to the car, collapsing into their seats.

               Harry groans. “I….am so full.”

               Zayn grunts. “Me, too. I think I’m going to crawl into a ball and hibernate all winter, surviving entirely off of what I’ve just eaten.”

              They sit for a while, watching the people pass on the streets around them, and Zayn pictures them all in individual comic strips, meandering around in their stories. Sometimes they come together, making connections; like when the little girl buying ice cream runs back to her waiting mother, or the hurried, disheveled man runs into the woman reading her book, and a new scene altogether is created. He thinks back to the day he crashed into Harry and wonders if they inadvertently created a new comic of their own, too. He wonders where the plot’s going.

             Zayn breaks from his thoughts. “I should be getting back. I’m supposed to meet Niall for a night of FIFA. If you wanna stay out, I can walk back. It’s not far.”

             Harry shifts up in his seat and begins putting on his seatbelt. “No, its okay. I’m actually kind of tired.”

             “Me too, but Niall will kill me if I cancel on him again. Apparently enjoying your Saturday night in a Netflix and Goldfish induced coma isn’t a proper excuse for not attending FIFA Night.”

             Harry laughs. “I like Niall. He’s fun.”

             “You like everyone,” Zayn responds.

 

              Later on that night, after Niall has won nearly every game they’ve played and Zayn’s eyes sting when he blinks from staring at the television so long, Zayn confesses, “I’m not very good at being careful around him.”

              Niall brings up the menu on the screen and turns sideways to see Zayn. “Harry, you mean?”

              Nodding Zayn explains, “When I’m by myself, it’s so easy to tell myself to keep my cool,” Zayn shakes his head, “but when I’m with him something feels...lighter? I don’t know how to put it, but it, he, makes me… It’s like I forget to be hesitant.”

              “And you’re saying that’s a bad thing? You’re worried?”

              Zayn nods, and then breathes out heavily, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “I’m trying to keep my distance, but… I spent all day with him, and I almost invited him to play FIFA with us!” He pauses for a moment. “All day wasn’t enough, Ni.”

               “Should’ve invited him,” Niall responds. “I need somewhat of a challenge. Your shit game is making me lose my edge.”

               Zayn punches his shoulder playfully and rests his elbow on his knee. Hiding his head behind his hand, eyes staring at the seemingly infinite loops of thread in the carpet, Zayn mumbles, “He’s, like, magnetic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciated the feedback you guys gave last time, so if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism you'd like to give, I'd be much obliged!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I see them? Your tattoos?”  
> Zayn answers by lifting his sweatshirt over his head, the shirt he has on underneath riding up a bit before he pulls it back down. When his sweatshirt is off from over his head he looks to Harry and sees that his eyes have widened in what he knows to be shock and thinks to be admiration.  
> “I didn’t know you had this many.” Harry’s voice is deep, and Zayn imagines how it would look in the air, like hot steam swirling up from the shower or a cup of coffee- smooth, but still bracing when the heat licks your skin.

             Monday is Zayn and Harry’s last day to work before their project is due Tuesday, so they begin work an hour earlier than normal at four. Zayn’s dreading this study session. Today they have to cover the oral presentation part of the project- the part Zayn’s been steadily avoiding since they were assigned it.

             Zayn stands in front of Harry, flashcards in hand. He clears his throat, attempting to steel his nerves and ready himself to speak, but his breath in catches in his throat, and he ends up coughing sporadically instead. He recovers, but as he tries to read the notes in front of him, the letters begin to blur and the lines get jumbled, so he can’t focus on what he’s supposed to be reading. He blinks his eyes again and breathes in deep, but it’s to no avail. Frustrated, he slumps into the seat closest to him and hides his face in his arms.

             “I can’t fucking do it,” he mumbles from behind his arms.

             He feels Harry’s hand on his left shoulder, but it does nothing to curb his anxiety, so he shrugs it off.

             “What’s wrong, Zayn?”

             Zayn groans, angry- mostly at himself. “I can’t do it, Harry. I can’t speak in front of a fucking class, okay?”

             He looks up, and Harry looks concerned. Zayn rolls his eyes and turns away. He’s embarrassed and anxious, and the last thing he needs is Harry’s pity making him feel worse.

             “What are you afraid of? What exactly do you think is going to happen?”

             Zayn sighs, still facing the wall opposite of Harry. “I don’t know. I mean it’s just a situation where tons of people are looking at you and listening to you and judging everything you say, watching every twitch. I’m gonna be nervous and mess up what I’m saying and people are gonna… I don’t know. Laugh at me. Think I’m dumb.”

             “Have you never had to speak in front of class before?”

             “Yah, but I puked, so teachers didn’t make me do it anymore.”

             He turns around to see Harry looking at him, determined. “We can work through it, yeah? We just have to change things, so it’s easier for you. We’ll just arrange the PowerPoint, so that you can point at things while you’re speaking- that way you don’t have to see the other people as much. And I’ll take all the long paragraphs. And if you mess up, that’s fine- I’ll be right there to pick up where you left off. I’ll be right beside you the whole presentation; I promise.” He laughs half-heartedly and then looks down, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “And this time, I won’t break that promise. I got your back, Zayn. Really.”

            Harry’s attention is concentrated on Zayn, and Zayn searches his face for any hint of deception, but he can’t find any. He doesn’t actually have any other options besides going along with Harry at this point anyway, so he nods tersely. “Okay.”

            Harry gives Zayn an encouraging smile and gathers up the notecards again. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

 

            The next day, Harry meets Zayn outside of class early to give him a last minute pep talk and go over the outline of their presentation together. When he’s done, Harry pulls Zayn into a hug, and despite Harry’s tight embrace, it becomes a bit easier for Zayn to breathe.

           Overall, the presentation goes well. Zayn feels sick the entire time and trips over his words frequently, but Harry is always there when he looks to the side, giving him a secret smile, encouraging him. Zayn decides it’s a massive success when the presentation is over and there’s no vomit on his shoes.

           He’s walking back towards his seat when Harry grabs his arm, diverting his route and pulling him out of the classroom. When they’re outside, Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist hugging him so tightly that Zayn’s feet leave the ground. Zayn lets out a startled noise, but Harry hangs on to him for a few more seconds before placing him back on the ground. Harry takes his face in his hands, and when Zayn looks at him, Harry’s eyes are bright with excitement.

           “That was amazing, Zayn! You were so good!”

           Zayn shrugs. “Eh, I mean it could’ve been-“

           Harry puts his hand out. “No. Shut up. You did brilliantly. And now it’s time to celebrate. Where do you want to go?”

           Zayn sucks in his bottom lip, suppressing a grin. “Can we go get froyo?”

           “Zayn bloody Malik. You’re constantly complaining about the cold, and now you want to go get frozen yogurt?”

           Zayn laughs loudly, not bothering to hide his smile. “Froyo is my victory food, man! No matter the weather.”

           Harry shakes his head fondly before pulling Zayn into another hug. Zayn revels in the way Harry’s back feels beneath his hands, even through layers of cushiony fabric. Zayn feels one of Harry’s curls tickle his ear and then hears Harry’s low voice in his ear, whispering “I am so proud of you.”     

*****

           At Niall’s suggestion Zayn invites Harry, Louis, and Liam to their next FIFA night. Harry eagerly accepts and agrees to extend the invitation to his friends. When Friday night rolls around Harry and Louis appear at their door, explaining that Liam has a date with his girlfriend.

           “S’alright. Makes for even teams!” Niall says.

           “I’m just glad that one of us is getting laid tonight.” Louis looks pointedly at Harry, and Niall laughs. Louis tosses the pack of beer he brought on Niall’s bed. “Well, I know Harry’s absolute rubbish, so I call Niall.”

           Harry gives a monotone, drawn out, “Hey…’’ but doesn’t bother fighting against the truth.

           “Cool shirt there, mate,” Louis says, as he point to the picture of The Hulk on Zayn’s chest. In his eyes Zayn can see something repentant, like he’s trying to apologize for his missteps from before without having to actually say it.

           Zayn understands that so responds, “Thanks. You like comic books?”

           “Yah, loads. I’ve got a little collection back at my flat. You should come over sometime. We can geek out together.”

           Zayn smiles, laughing lightly. “Yah, definitely. Sounds cool.”

           Louis smiles back warmly, seemingly satisfied that their previous ill feelings toward each other are now water under the bridge. Zayn glances at Harry, and he’s staring at Louis with a fond look on his face, like some sort of proud parent.

  

           Zayn and Harry quickly fall behind in the game, with a constant and loud chorus of insults from Niall and Louis to remind them. After about an hour, Harry and Zayn call it quits.

           “Finally,” Louis sighs dramatically, “I was actually getting bored of winning there. For a second anyway.” Niall throws his head back and cackles loudly.

           “Oh God,” Harry replies, rolling his eyes, a small smile teasing his lips. “Please, don’t encourage him, Niall.” Niall just laughs again and turns back to the screen, starting a new game between him and Louis.

           Harry grabs another beer for himself and Zayn, and they sit on Niall’s bed and watch the small, animated figures sprint across the screen. Niall and Louis’ shouts have become increasingly loud, with Louis actually jumping off of the bean bag they’re sharing to yell and point at the screen directly to emphasize some triumph. Harry’s leg and arm are pressed up against his own, and Zayn feels like he’s suddenly become aware of every nerve on that side of his body. Zayn does his best to ignore it, but he fails as he realizes a few moments later that his brain has seemed to zero in on the parts of his body touching Harry’s, becoming all he can think about.

           Harry turns to Zayn. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

           Zayn nods, thinking it had become a bit stifling in the small room anyway, and picks up his jacket and scarf from the back of Niall’s chair, following Harry out of the room. Harry shouts quickly that they’re stepping out for a bit, but Niall and Louis are too engrossed in their current game to respond or even notice.

           They walk for a bit in silence, and Zayn pulls up his scarf to cover his mouth and nose, attempting futilely to block out the cold. A group of students run across the wet grass, raucous laughter disappearing behind the corner when they do.

           Harry’s body makes a quiet thud as he flops down onto the grass easily, reclining, and Zayn looks around them, then down at Harry, confused. Harry’s smiling, and he waves his hand, beckoning for Zayn to join him. Zayn takes one more furtive glance around before lying awkwardly beside Harry, unsure of how close he should get. He has too many layers on for the water on the grass to soak through his clothes, but he feels the moisture from the grass on his hands.

           Harry’s voice breaks through the silence. “So, apart from the weather, how are you liking the English winter so far?”

           Zayn looks up to the sky. He can’t see any stars- the city lights are much too bright- but he enjoys the tree branches’ silhouettes against the stark black backdrop. “I like the way it looks. I like bare tree branches and everyone bustling around in their coats. They’re nice to draw.”

           “Why?”

           “People look cozy, and…and…” Zayn pauses for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his thoughts. “And vulnerable I suppose. That probably sounds super weird.” 

           He hears the grass shuffle as Harry shakes his head. “No.”

           “It’s just, like, people need those jackets. To protect them from the weather, from the earth. They’re at the will of the elements, y’know?” He pauses, feeling dumb, and rubs blades of grass between his fingers; they’ve gone nearly numb from the cold. “People just look more human.”

           “And the trees?”

           It takes a moment for him to understand what Harry’s asking. “Umm… they’re just bare. And simple. And I think that’s lovely as well.” Harry doesn’t respond, so Zayn fears what he’s said is incredibly stupid and probably doesn’t make sense. He would apologize, but he’s really too embarrassed to say anything further, and the embarrassment keeps growing along with the tightness in his chest  the more he thinks about it.

           The backs of Harry’s finger brush against his, and Zayn feels a quick, sharp pain run through his hand as static electricity dissipates in him.

           “You shocked me!” Zayn exclaims, surprised. He looks over to Harry for the first time since they’d laid down. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, and his dimples are apparent as his face breaks out into a grin.

           “Sorry,” Harry mumbles through quiet laughter, face still pointed toward the sky. Zayn turns his face back to the night sky, crossing his arms and tucking his hands to his sides, trying to defrost them. Out of the corner of his eye Zayn sees Harry’s body shaking. He turns to look at him, and his hands are clasped over his face, a muffled sound escaping from behind them.

           “Harry?” Zayn questions hesitantly. “Are you alright? I was just trying to warm my hands. I didn’t mean to-”

           Harry throws his arms up above him, and Zayn realizes he’s laughing, a wide smile evident on his face. His chest rises and falls unevenly as his laughter grows, until it’s boisterous, and he can’t control it.

           Laughter bubbles up from his chest, and Zayn finds himself giggling along, though he has no idea why. “What’s so funny?”

           “I just,” Harry starts, taking deep breaths to control and ease away his laughter. He sighs deeply, smile still stretched across his face. “I just shocked you. Literally and figuratively, I just shocked you.” He giggles again to himself, and Zayn shakes his head, but can’t wipe the smile off his own face.

           “You’re such an idiot.”

           Harry turns his head towards him, and Zayn’s breath catches momentarily. “I’m hilarious.”

           Zayn scoffs. “Let’s go back inside. My fingers are completely frozen, and you’ve obviously gone delirious.”

           They both sit up, and Zayn so badly wants to reach out and run his hands along all of Harry’s curves and angles, all too apparent as he sits on the grass, resting on his hands behind him. Heat creeps into Zayn’s cheeks, so he turns away and shoves his hands further underneath his arms.

           Niall and Louis are sprawled out across the floor of the dorm laughing loudly, but when Zayn and Harry walk in they both halt the conversation and give them pointed looks. Zayn gives Niall a defensive look, and Niall only raises an eyebrow before turning back to Louis.

           “You ready for another game, Tommo?”

           “Well Nialler, though I’d love to kick your arse again, Harry and I really must be going.”

           “Oi, that just sounds like a cop out, mate.”

           Louis scrunches his eyes, challenging, before jumping forward to land a smack to the side of Niall’s head. They wrestle around until Louis gets him in a headlock, and Niall’s forced to forfeit. Niall’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright as Louis releases him from his hold. Zayn feels the corners of his own lips turn up as the weight on his chest lightens. Louis messes up Niall’s hair for good measure, and gets up to grab his coat and put on his shoes.

           Harry hands Zayn his beer he’d forgotten to pick up after laying on the grass. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

           “Thanks, but I’m actually staying at Niall’s tonight.”

           “Oh, okay,” Harry replies, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

           They exchange goodbyes, and as soon as the door closes Niall says, “I like that Louis. He’s _so_ funny. I can’t believe we’ve never run into each other before! Even at his parties! Must be ‘cause he’s a bit older.” Niall grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from his drawers and chucks them at Zayn.

           “Don’t you have a sweatshirt?”

           “Sorry, mate. I haven’t done the wash in…a while. You can grab one from the hamper if you want.”

           Zayn scrunches up his nose and grabs his jacket instead. He rolls out the sleeping bag Niall keeps for their sleepovers, and Zayn snuggles in deep, pulling the insulated fabric up to his chin. Zayn burrows his face into the collar of his jacket and his hands into his pockets. Something brushes across his fingers in his right pocket, and Zayn pulls it out. It’s a piece of paper. Zayn unfolds it, bringing it close to his face, straining to see what’s written on it. When his eyes finally adjust, written out in Harry’s familiar scrawl he reads:

_The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.  
                                                                              -Ernest Hemingway_

*****

           Zayn spends all of Saturday putting the finishing touches on his portrait and landscape. When he’s done, he holds them up, trying to look at them with an objective perspective-something he’s never been good at. Whenever he looks at something he’s done, even though it’s a finished product, he can still see all the off shading and awkward lines he erased, remembers how many hours he put into it. He decides that Professor M will be satisfied with it, and that’ll have to be good enough. He shuffles through his iPod, settling on a playlist of mostly Maxwell and Erykah Badu _,_ and takes out another folder from his stack of notebooks and pads of paper, pulling out the sketch he’s been working on for his new tattoo. He finally has the basic outline of the snake done, though it took him what seems like forever to have it properly fit over his shoulder. He takes up his pencil again and begins drawing in the details, the black scales that coil around the serpent’s body and its intense eyes. He’s so engrossed that when his phone vibrates he jumps and is surprised to see 9:52 flash across his screen along with Harry’s name.

            **_Can I crash at your place tonight? Roommates girlfriend is over, and I’ve been exiled again :( xx_**

Zayn imagines Harry standing outside his door, a pout on his face with wide eyes.

 **** _Sure come over whenever_

Harry knocks on the door ten minutes later, shouting from behind the door, “Hurry, Zayn! I’m freezing my tits off out here!” Zayn opens the door with a bemused smile. “Oh, thank God. My nipples could cut glass.”

         “Where’s your coat?” Zayn asks through his laughter.

        “Apparently, my roommate was a little too busy to let me in to get it,” Harry replies with raised eyebrows, dropping his bag dramatically by Zayn’s desk

         Zayn shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.” He looks over at Harry who’s currently running his hands over his arms feverishly, trying to warm himself. “Do you want a blanket or something? Harry nods, so Zayn takes the extra blanket from off his bed and wraps it around his shoulders.

         “It’s beautiful. Where did you get it from?”

         “My grandma made it for me.” Zayn looks over the blanket comprised of multicolored squares, and remembers her giving it to him the day he left for school. It had been his first time flying, so he’d put it in his carry on knowing he’d be glad to have the comfort throughout the overnight flight.

          Zayn comes back to the moment and looks over his room. “There’s not much going on here. Kinda just been lazy all day.”

         “It’s alright,” Harry breathes out easily. His eyes turn towards Zayn’s desk and his drawing on top of it. “Is it alright if I look?” Zayn nods, and Harry walks over to it, running his hands over the intricate lines gently.

           “It’s um, it’s gonna be my next tattoo,” Zayn explains, clearing his throat. “I like to design them myself.”

           “It’s amazing,” Harry comments, wonder in his voice. He turns back to Zayn. “Can I see them? Your tattoos?”

           Zayn answers by lifting his sweatshirt over his head, the shirt he has on underneath riding up a bit before he pulls it back down. When his sweatshirt is off from over his head he looks to Harry and sees that his eyes have widened in what he knows to be shock and thinks to be admiration.

          “I didn’t know you had this many.” Harry’s voice is deep, and Zayn imagines how it would look floating in the air; maybe like hot steam swirling up from the shower or a cup of coffee- smooth, but still bracing when the heat licks your skin.

          Zayn shrugs and holds out his right arm for Harry to see. Harry takes his forearm in his hand and turns it over, tracing his fingers gently over the inked lines like he had on the drawing a minute before, and Zayn feels a small surge of pride. He’s always loved showing off the work he’s gotten done, loves when people admire and appreciate the craftsmanship and various styles. Harry’s eyes flicker from piece to piece, seemingly entranced by the art that decorates his arm. Zayn’s skin tingles where Harry’s traced, and when he looks down, Zayn almost expects to somehow see the path Harry’s fingers have taken. Harry runs his hand along Zayn’s upper arm, studying each piece closely, taking his time, and trails his fingers to Zayn’s collarbone, where only a few lines of his tattoo peek out. Zayn’s hyper aware of Harry’s grasp on his arm and the weight of his hand resting on Zayn’s chest.

         “Where’s your new one going to be?” Harry asks.

           Zayn uses his free hand to lift up the short sleeve of his shirt and uncover his shoulder. “Um, right…right here,” he says quietly, feeling that if he were any louder, whatever’s building in the room around them might shatter.

          He spreads his fingers out, showing Harry how the tattoo will lay. Harry runs his hand over the still bare skin, and Zayn visibly shivers. Harry’s eyes dart up to meet his, and Zayn’s body tenses, in anticipation and nervousness. He runs his tongue over his lips and watches as Harry’s gaze drops to follow the movement before looking back up to Zayn’s eyes. Zayn’s mind is screaming at him to do something, _something_ , but his body won’t move, the tension in it paralyzing him.

          Harry rubs his thumb gently over the side of Zayn’s neck, and Zayn feels his heart flutter as he leans into it faintly. Harry asks, voice low, “Do you have any more anywhere else?” and something in Zayn snaps.

           He surges forward, pressing his lips against Harry’s harshly, and Harry lets out a small, surprised yelp. It’s definitely not the most tactful move Zayn’s ever made, and normally he would be embarrassed, but he doesn’t have the time or brain capacity to focus on that because Harry’s kissing him back, deeply, hand on the back of Zayn’s head and arm wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. Zayn grabs onto Harry’s shoulders and chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. Harry’s breathing harshly, and Zayn nips at his bottom lip. Harry moans lightly, so Zayn bites again, harder this time, tugging and sucking on his bottom lip. Harry groans loudly, from deep in his throat, and Zayn rises up on his toes, trying to get impossibly closer and causing Harry to stumble back until they hit Zayn’s door with a thud.

          Zayn’s hands are everywhere at once, underneath Harry’s shirt, on his chest, tracing the lines of his stomach and hips, and rifling through his hair; all Zayn can think is _more, more, more_. Harry matches his frantic pace, placing quick kisses to the corner of Zayn’s mouth and cheeks before running his teeth along his jaw and sucking at Zayn’s neck. Zayn presses Harry harder against the wall and rolls his hips, drawing out moans from both of them, and Zayn feels like it’s caught fire in his veins. His heart pounds rapidly, echoing the frenzied feeling that his hands can’t move fast enough, and he can’t get close enough.

           Harry grabs onto Zayn’s hips, so they’re bodies are flush against each other, and rocks against him roughly. Zayn buries his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, biting down on the soft skin to stifle the sounds he feels building in his throat.

          Zayn hears Harry panting loud in his ear before hearing Harry’s voice, breathy and desperate. “Can I suck you off? Please, Zayn.”

         Zayn’s mind turns to static, and his stomach flips. He hesitates for a moment, but truly there’s no chance he’s refusing that request, and he finds himself muttering, “Yeah, yeah…,” mouth and body working on their own accord, since Zayn can’t process anything that’s happening quickly enough. He takes a step back, and Harry drops to he’s knees easily, letting out a relieved sigh.

         Harry runs his hands down Zayn’s torso quickly, leaving hot trails across his skin. His fingers linger at the hem of Zayn’s sweats as he stops to run his hands over Zayn’s hip. Zayn looks down to see that Harry’s found the black heart boldly tattooed there. Harry kisses over it softly, almost reverently, a few times, a stark contrast to his earlier motions, before undoing the tie on Zayn’s sweats and pulling them down along with his boxers until both crumple on the floor. Zayn waits for Harry to move, but Harry’s just _staring_ at him, and he doesn’t know what to do.

          “Are you-”

          “I just,” Harry starts, but rethinks his words. “Can you-” Harry tries to pick the right words, but gives up, frustrated. He drops his jaw, opening his mouth wide and bringing his tongue forward to rest on his bottom lip invitingly while clasping his hands at the small of his back.

         A heavy breath leaves Zayn’s mouth, and his head is swimming. “Fuck, are you sure?”

         Harry furrows his brows and keens insistently while nodding his head. Zayn takes a deep breath and guides himself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping a hand around himself and bringing his hips forward. Harry tilts his head up, catching Zayn on the tip of his tongue and bottom lip. Harry closes his mouth around him, and Zayn sighs at the contact. He places one hand on the door and cards the other through Harry’s hair, holding on to the back of his head gently. Zayn stays still for a moment, allowing Harry to suck sloppily at his tip, and hisses when Harry flicks his tongue across Zayn’s slit. Zayn thrusts forward, shallowly at first, but deeper with every push forward until he finds a rhythm he thinks is comfortable for both him and Harry and makes his body hum. Harry stays completely still except for his mouth, hands still clasped loosely behind his back.

         Harry hollows out his cheeks, sucking fervently, and Zayn’s hips buck forward. Harry makes a small gagging noise as Zayn hits the back of his throat, and Zayn tries to break through the fog that’s clouding his mind, apologizing quickly. He tries to bring his hips back, but Harry wraps his hand around the back of Zayn’s upper thigh, holding him in place. Harry looks up at him through wet, long lashes and swallows. Zayn feels Harry’s throat constrict around him, and he groans through clenched teeth, both hands tightening into fists, one at the door and one in Harry’s hair.

          Harry moans, and the vibrations echo through Zayn’s body. Zayn bites down on his lip hard, trying to hold back the groan threatening to escape his throat. Briefly his mind wanders to the thought of whether any passer-bys can hear what’s happening on the other side of the door. The thought makes his knees go a bit weak, and in the back of his mind, he hopes they can. He looks down at Harry and pulls his hair at the base of his neck again. Harry lets out a high, muffled whimper and closes his eyes. His cheeks are flushed a bright red, and Zayn runs his hand over them, feeling the radiating heat.

           “You sure?” Zayn asks again.

         Harry opens his eyes, making eye contact with Zayn and squeezes the back of his thigh in a silent assurance. Zayn breathes deeply and begins thrusting again, this time much more harshly; still watching Harry closely in case he decides he’s had enough and Zayn needs to pull back. Harry never stops him, though, just kneels and keeps his mouth tight around him until Zayn can’t feel his legs anymore. Zayn pushes his thumb against Harry’s cheek, feeling himself move in and out of Harry’s mouth over and over again, and his vision fizzles around the edges. His entire body is buzzing, so much so that he almost can’t feel it except for the parts that are touching Harry.

         “Harry, Harry,” Zayn breathes shakily, “I’m gonna- fucking shit.”

         Harry squeezes Zayn’s thigh again, and with a few more quick thrusts, Zayn’s coming in Harry’s mouth, a choked grunt spilling from his own. Harry sucks and swallows until Zayn has nothing left and pulls off of him with a loud pop, lips wet and bruised. Zayn pulls up his sweats and slumps to his knees, joining Harry on the floor.

         Harry scrambles forward to meet him, eyes glassy and beads of sweat along his hairline. Zayn kisses him, brushing their tongues together, and runs his hands across Harry’s back, feeling his ribs contract and expand rapidly.

         Harry’s out of breath and between kisses he says, “Thank you.”

         Zayn’s body clenches when he hears how wrecked Harry’s voice is. “What for?” he asks. Then adds with a breathy laugh, “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”

         Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck and shifts onto Zayn’s lap, one of Zayn’s thighs between the two of his. He pushes down onto Zayn, sighing loudly at the anticipated contact, and begins rocking back and forth, arms tight around Zayn’s neck and shoulders.

         “I just, I wanted to do that for so long,” Harry’s voice is close in his ear, and Zayn can feel the grit of it flowing through his entire body, rumbling down through his own lungs making it hard to breathe. Zayn lifts Harry’s hips until they sit at the apex of his hip and thigh, and Harry grinds against him, slow and hard. Harry lets a long moan fall from his mouth. His breathing is uneven, and Zayn holds onto his hips tightly, keeping him steady as Harry moves faster, hips faltering as he loses the pace he set before. His breath is hot when it lands heavily on Zayn’s neck. “I want you so bad, Zayn.” Harry’s voice sounds almost apologetic, like it’s a confession.

         Harry’s little sighs and whimpers are flooding Zayn’s mind, and he feels dizzy, eyes unable to focus on any one thing in the room. He wraps his arms tightly around Harry, bringing him closer and admits, “I want you, too, Harry. So bad.”

         Harry leans back to look at Zayn. The blush across his cheeks has reached down to his chest, disappearing underneath his shirt, and Zayn wants to find out how low it reaches, trace it with his hands. When Harry speaks his voice is broken, and his eyes are wide, staring at Zayn. “Really?”

          “Really,” Zayn replies without hesitation. Harry’s head falls to Zayn shoulders, and his blunt nails dig into Zayn’s back through his shirt. Harry ruts against Zayn one last time and lets out a loud cry, spilling out into his jeans. Zayn runs his hands over Harry’s back feeling the heat from his skin radiate through the cotton on his t-shirt as Harry breathes deeply, regaining his breath. Harry’s body goes pliant, and he nuzzles into Zayn’s neck, humming into the skin there softly and rubbing his nose back and forth. Zayn traces across Harry’s back and sides, nails lightly grazing and plants long kisses on Harry’s cheek and jaw. Harry squirms when Zayn strokes across his ribs, and mumbles quietly, “Tickles.”

          Zayn rests his head on Harry’s and smiles to himself. “You can, um, use the shower if you want.”

         “Is that your way of telling me I smell, Malik?”

         Zayn’s feels a wave of panic run through him as his chest tightens. “No! I just-”

          “I’m just having you on, Zayn! Christ, relax.” Harry shifts in his lap and grimaces. “Besides, I do have to admit- this is getting quite uncomfortable.” Harry laughs, and Zayn joins in, relieved.

          Harry gets up, pulling Zayn along with him. Zayn digs through his drawers, retrieving a pair of grey sweats and his favorite tie-dyed sleeping shirt. “Towels are hanging up in the bathroom.” Harry takes the clothing from him and kisses his lips before waltzing into the bathroom. “There’s an extra toothbrush, too,” Zayn adds, a teasing lilt to his voice, and Harry flips him off, looking back to send a smirk over his shoulder.

            While Harry’s showering, Zayn takes the time to mull over what happened, how they went from zero to sixty in .5 seconds. It was frantic, desperate, a bit rushed, and definitely unplanned, but Zayn feels warm and fluttery nonetheless when he remembers Harry’s body against his, arms wrapped around him and nose soft against his neck. He flounces back onto his bed, mind replaying Harry’s electric eyes staring up at him and the way his breath hitched, mouth pressed to Zayn’s ear. Underneath the giddiness, though, uncertainty is settling uncomfortably in his stomach, and he doesn’t know why.

            He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears Harry’s voice belting from behind the bathroom door and over the stream of the shower. “That don’t impress me much, oh, oh! You think you’re cool, but have you got the touch? Don’t get me wrong, yah, I think you’re alright. But that won’t keep me warm on the loooong, cooooold, lonely niiiights!”

            Zayn grins wildly and reaches behind his head, pulling his pillow out and shoving it over his face to hide it. He hears the bathroom door click open and lowers the pillow to his chest, tilting his head towards the noise. Harry walks out of the bathroom, shaking his head like a dog caught in the rain before rubbing a towel over it. Zayn’s usually oversized shirt fits Harry perfectly, outlining his broad shoulders. Harry stops in front of the bed, eyeing it hesitantly.

            “You’re a regular pop idol, Harry,” Zayn teases. “You should try out for X Factor.”

             Harry scoffs indignantly and grabs the pillow from Zayn, hitting him with it. “I’ll have you know I was in a band when I was younger. I was quite famous in Cheshire.”

             Zayn reaches to Harry’s waist, pulling him on top of him, and Harry’s eyes light up. With a smirk Zayn replies, “‘Was’ being the operative word.”

             Harry rolls his eyes and laughs lightly, resting his head on Zayn’s chest. “So rude.”

             Zayn lies still for a moment, petting Harry’s hair, deciding if he’s going to tell Harry what’s been nagging at him, why he can’t fully enjoy this moment. Zayn shifts them, so they’re both lying on their sides, facing each other. He rests his arm on the slight dip of Harry’s waist, and Harry mirrors the movement. Zayn looks over Harry’s face, rummaging through the thoughts in his mind, trying to figure out how to word what he wants to say.

         “I’m sorry. About before,” Zayn takes a deep breath, eyes flittering across every feature of Harry’s face, but avoiding his eyes. “I was…I was mean. I didn’t give you a chance to explain anything.  I just-”

         “It’s alright, Zayn. I understand.” Harry pulls Zayn in closer, placing a soft kiss to his lips, and Zayn's heart does that same flutter. When he pulls back, Zayn finally makes eye contact with Harry, looking for any lingering resistance or anger, but there is none. He gives Zayn a relaxed smile, bringing his hand up to trace across Zayn’s cheek with his fingertips, and Zayn shakes his head slightly, in awe of his forgiving nature. The nauseous feeling in his stomach hasn’t gone away, but Zayn decides to leave it in favor of maintaining the moment, hoping it’s just nerves or misunderstood excitement.

          They lay silent for a few minutes before Zayn says, “You should really talk to your roommate. He’s an asshole for kicking you out all the time. Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

           Harry laughs. “I would hope not. But it’s really not that big of a deal.”

           “He wouldn’t let you get your coat! You could’ve froze to death!”

           “I don’t really think-”

           “You’re too nice, Harry. You’re paying to live in that dorm; you should actually be able to live in it.”

            “You act like it’s all the time.”

           “It’s, like, every other week!”  Harry gives him a sheepish smile, and Zayn realizes he may have overstepped. “Sorry, sorry. It’s none of my business. I don’t mean to sound patronizing.”

            Harry sighs, a kind smile still on his face. “No, I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to him about it.”

            “Awesome.” Zayn gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he's amazed at the realization that now he can do that. He doesn't have to imagine it anymore; he can give Harry kisses just because he wants to.  “But you can still come over here. If you want.”

           “Of course I want.”

           Harry yawns, mouth wide, and pulls his arms to his chest, trapping them between him and Zayn. Zayn pulls him in tight, Harry’s head resting on his right arm, and Harry’s eyes flutter closed. One of Harry’s hands strokes gently across Zayn’s chest, over his heart, and Zayn tries to breathe normally to keep the beat of it even. Harry’s hand falls still as his breathing evens out, small noises leaving him as he drifts off. Zayn stares at him, every feature softened by the low light, dark lips and lashes in stark contrast to his skin, brilliant under the glow of the moon. He looks serene. Zayn leans in, giving Harry a kiss on top of his head, and he smells his own shampoo in Harry’s hair. A sharp pain runs deep in his chest, a mixture of guilt and affection. To the dark room and Harry’s sleeping figure Zayn whispers, “Don’t let me mess this up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I was thinking of making a playlist for each chapter that consists of each song/artist and mentioned that chapter and also the music that inspired/helped me write the chapter. I'd put a link to my 8track account in the notes here. Is that something you guys would be interested in? Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tells himself many times that he should stop, for his sake and Harry’s, but he can’t. When he’s with Harry, there’s a fire inside of him. Sometimes it rages, burning his hands and lips and every part of him that Harry touches. Other times it’s a slow, warm heat from the comfortable reassurance that whenever they’re lounging and doing separate things, he can glance up and see Harry relaxing or hear him shuffling around on the worn out carpet. Zayn doesn't want to let go of that, so he tells himself he’ll figure it out, that maybe the situation will work itself out, or, even more improbably, that he’ll learn to stop being so guarded.

                      The next few weeks pass quickly, and in Zayn’s mind they replay as a flustered blur of tangled limbs, hot skin, and eager touches he can never get enough of. In between those memories, Zayn fondly recalls Harry meeting him early on Tuesday and Thursday mornings with two cups of tea to walk with him to Psychology class, hand in hand, and Harry reading on Zayn’s bed, Zayn sketching Harry’s long lines when he falls asleep in the middle of a chapter. It’s especially in those moments, where Harry’s lying completely still and exposed, no sparkling eyes or wandering hands to distract, that Zayn truly considers what he’s doing, wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel the same openness he always recognizes in Harry. Because no matter how strongly Zayn feels, Zayn can never return the kind words of affection Harry gives him, always keeping him at a safe distance, reveling in and depending on the moments they’re touching for Harry to understand how Zayn feels.

                      He tells himself many times that he should stop, for his sake and Harry’s, but he can’t. When he’s with Harry, there’s a fire inside of him. Sometimes it rages, burning his hands and lips and every part of him that Harry touches. Other times it’s a slow, warm heat from the comfortable reassurance that whenever they’re lounging and doing separate things, he can glance up and see Harry relaxing or hear him shuffling around on the worn out carpet. Zayn doesn’t want to let go of that, so he tells himself he’ll figure it out, that maybe the situation will work itself out, or, even more improbably, that he’ll learn to stop being so guarded.

         

           On Friday, Harry calls Zayn after his morning class is done. When Zayn answers the phone, Harry sounds excited.

           “Zayn, guess what?” He pauses for a moment, but doesn’t actually give Zayn enough time to respond. “I talked to my roommate about locking me out!”

           “Oh, that’s great! How’d it go?”

           “Brilliantly, actually! He apologized and everything. He’s not even mad at me!”

          “That’s awesome, Harry! Super awesome.” Zayn imagines Harry’s proud grin on the other end of the phone and smiles to himself.

          “I know! And, he said that as, like, restitution he’d give me the whole dorm for the weekend! I mean, I’m pretty sure he was leaving anyways, but that’s really nice, right?”

            Zayn shakes his head fondly. “Yah, Harry. It is. I’m really glad you talked to him. I know you were nervous about it.”

            There’s silence for a short while before Zayn hears Harry say, “So...”

            “So…?” Zayn responds, no idea what Harry is hinting at or why he sounds so unsure. Harry is never unsure.

            “So, I was wondering if you wanted to stay over this weekend? Of course, you don’t have to spend all of your time there or really, y’know, spend a lot of time there if you don’t want. I was just thinking since it’s open y’know, that, like, hey why not mention it since it’s a possibility? But really don’t say yes unless you want to because-“

             “Yeah, Harry, sure. I’ll stay over this weekend.”

             “Are you sure? Because like I said if you don’t want to-“

             “I want to, Harry.”

             “Really?”

             “Really.”

             He hears Harry let out a soft, short laugh that sounds like relief. “Cool.”

             “Yah, cool.”

*****

           On Friday night, Harry opens the door to Zayn with a massive smile and immediately grabs both sides of Zayn’s face, pulling him into a deep kiss. When Harry lets him go, he drops his hands to Zayn’s waist, and Zayn smiles dazedly, already a little frazzled.

           “Hello to you, too, then,” Zayn says with a laugh as he tosses his overnight bag to the side of the room. He adds sarcastically, “Have an especially good lecture today?”

           Harry shrugs and runs his hands up Zayn’s torso, pulling down the zipper of his jacket and looking up at him through his eyelashes with a smirk. “No, just excited to see you.”

           Zayn smiles warmly and raises his eyebrows. “Apparently.”

           He pulls Harry into another kiss, savoring the taste of his mouth and his sweet mint lip balm, and then shifts away, leaving quick pecks at the corners of his mouth.

           Zayn runs his hand down Harry’s neck lightly, cold fingers against warm skin, and Harry pouts exaggeratedly, eyebrows drawn together in mock frustration. “You have way too many clothes on”.

          Zayn laughs and reaches to finish unzipping his jacket before taking it off, but Harry puts his hands over Zayn’s. “Let me do it.”

            Harry drags the zipper of Zayn’s jacket down, making sure to run his fingers over the skin above his belt buckle when he gets to the end. He reaches up to Zayn’s shoulders and slides his hands down Zayn’s arms to his hands until the jacket slips off. He takes Zayn’s hand in his and pulls Zayn toward him for a kiss, brushing their lips together softly before licking into his mouth. Zayn sighs at the sensation, velvety smooth in his mouth, and feels himself melt under Harry’s plush lips. Harry rubs Zayn’s thumbs with his own, and Zayn forgets about everything other than Harry and him, in that room, at that moment. 

          Zayn let’s go of Harry’s hands and spreads his own against Harry’s back, pulling him closer. Harry walks them backwards toward his bed until the back of Zayn’s knees hit the edge and they tumble down onto the mattress together. Zayn runs his hands across Harry’s cheeks and down his torso, keeping his mouth pressed against Harry’s, not wanting to lose the contact. Zayn always feels like he could never get bored of kissing Harry, reveling in how he tastes and how soft his lips are. Zayn gets lost in it: Harry’s mouth and smell, the feel of his soft hair and warm skin under his fingertips. When Harry pulls away to look at him, his lips are a bright red and even more pouty than usual.

          Zayn runs his thumb along Harry’s lower lip, and Harry smirks, like he knows exactly what Zayn’s thinking, dipping his head and placing one kiss after the other across Zayn’s neck and collarbones. Harry’s teeth drag against his neck, and Zayn feels the warmth in his chest and stomach grow when Harry starts to suck hard enough to leave a mark. Zayn hums contentedly and reaches up to the card his fingers through Harry’s hair at the back of his neck. Harry smiles against Zayn’s neck and runs his hands down between them until Zayn feels Harry tugging at the worn leather of his belt. When Harry gets it undone he moves down Zayn’s body and lowers his head, biting the tip of Zayn’s jeans and unbuttoning them with his mouth. His nose brushes over Zayn’s lower stomach, and when Harry looks up to him, Zayn sighs and closes his eyes, running his hands through his own hair, relaxing against the bed. Harry rubs his thumbs lightly above the waistband of Zayn’s boxers, and Zayn can feel the muscles underneath the skin Harry’s touching clench from the teasing sensation. Zayn lifts his hips insistently, so Harry curls his fingers down to pull off Zayn’s jeans and boxers. His motions halt when he gets to Zayn’s ankles and realizes Zayn’s shoes are still on.

          “Oops, forgot about those,” Harry says, giggling and looking up at Zayn with a wide grin. Zayn throws his hand over his eyes, but despite his best efforts finds himself smiling, feeling absolutely ridiculous with his shoes and socks and his jeans pooled at his feet.

         Harry reaches up to lift Zayn’s arm, uncovering his face. “You’re too gorgeous to be hiding your face all the time.” Harry gives him a quick peck on the lips, and Zayn rolls his eyes, but puts his arm behind his head, feeling more relaxed.

         Harry undoes the laces on his Grinders quickly and places them, right next to left, underneath his bed. A sincere and tender look crosses his face when he turns back to find that Zayn’s wearing his fuzzy skull and crossbones socks. Zayn’s face and chest warm, so he nudges Harry’s thigh with his foot playfully.

           “Can you get on with it, then?”

            Harry laughs and pulls the socks off along with the rest of Zayn’s remaining clothing. Zayn leans up and runs his hands under Harry’s shirt. He leans in close, nudging Harry’s nose with his own, and mumbles, “Your turn.”

           Zayn lifts up Harry’s shirt and tosses it to the side. He lowers Harry back onto the bed underneath him and rests Harry’s neck in his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over his throat, the way he’s learned Harry’s likes, and watches as Harry’s eyes flutter closed. He places lingering kisses before running his tongue across Harry’s bottom lip. Harry opens his mouth easily, but Zayn holds back, brushing their mouths together as they share breaths. Harry makes a small whine, and Zayn smiles. He slides his tongue against Harry’s, and his skin grows hotter at the sound of Harry sighing contentedly into his mouth.

          Zayn sits up and undoes Harry’s belt and jeans, tugging them off along with his boxers and tossing them so they join his shirt on the floor. He runs his fingertips up the cut of Harry’s hips and over his stomach, watching his muscles move beneath his fingers. Zayn leans down and mouths along Harry’s torso, kissing and running his tongue over marks he left a few days earlier while creating new ones, appreciating the stark contrast between his pale skin and the dark lovebites.  As always he thinks of Harry finding them later and wonders if he remembers fondly all the ways Zayn touched and kissed him, tried to show him everything he couldn’t say.

          Zayn drags his nails lightly down Harry’s stomach before reaching down and wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock, stroking him lightly, barely giving any friction. Harry groans, frustrated, and tilts his head back, arching his back slightly. Zayn laughs softly, and Harry grumbles, lifting his head and giving Zayn a look of mock annoyance.

          “You’re such an arsehole.”

           They laugh together, and Zayn smirks at him.

           “Sorry, sweetheart, you just look so good like this.” That’s something else Zayn’s learned: Harry loves it when Zayn uses pet names, and the way Harry responds to them makes the words fall easily from Zayn’s mouth. Zayn continues stroking lazily, and Harry’s starts to squirm underneath him, his body trying to gain some kind of friction that Zayn’s not allowing. He nips along Harry’s jaw with his teeth, licking back over the sore spots and making his way to Harry’s ear. He leans in close and murmurs, “Tell me what you want, love. Tell me what you want me to do.”

             Harry huffs out a heavy breath of air and shoves Zayn’s shoulder playfully with his hand.

             “I want you to actually touch me, dammit.” Harry breathes out a shaky laugh, but it dies and turns into a moan when Zayn tightens his grip, tugging on Harry firmly and twisting his wrist at the end as a reward.

              Zayn gives a hum of approval, and urges Harry on. “What else? Tell me what else. Where do you want me?”

              Harry lets out a heavy breath and leans his head further back against his pillow. “Everywhere. Fucking everywhere. I want your fingers inside me, and I want your mouth on me, sucking on me. Fuck, anything you want, Zayn. You can have anything you want.” Harry’s breaths grow shorter and his moans grow louder as Zayn picks up his pace, and Zayn can tell he’s getting close by the way his breath is hitching, catching in his throat.

              Zayn stops abruptly, giving Harry one long, firm stroke that makes Harry curl in on himself before moving to open the drawer at Harry’s side table and grabbing the bottle of lube Harry stores there. Harry lifts his hips off the bed impatiently, and his chest rises and falls unevenly as he adjusts himself on the bed, bringing his knees up so his feet are planted firmly on either side of Zayn’s hips. Zayn turns back to face Harry, and he’s in awe of the way Harry looks, but can’t think of a way to tell him without sounding utterly cheesy and lame. Any words he could manage wouldn't do Harry justice anyway.

            Zayn spreads the gel over his fingers and leans down, pressing his mouth to Harry’s. He slips one finger into Harry slowly, taking his time as Harry relaxes his muscles underneath him, but Harry’s already worked himself up so much that soon he’s grinding down onto Zayn’s hand, asking for more. Zayn obliges and adds another finger, scissoring them to open Harry up, and Harry digs his fingers into Zayn’s shoulders, rolling his hips up towards Zayn. Zayn runs his free hand over Harry’s chest, tracing his collarbones and the dip at the bottom of his throat, feeling the sheen of sweat that’s formed over Harry’s skin. He curls his fingers forward and watches as Harry’s face contorts, the skin between his eyebrows pulling together and his mouth parting. Zayn pulls out, and Harry whines at the loss, hips moving against the bed. Zayn adds a dollop more lube onto his fingers, spreading it evenly, and pushes back in Harry gently, this time with three fingers. Harry takes in a sharp breath and grabs onto the arm Zayn has wrapped around Harry’s thigh, fingers tracing lightly over his hip. Harry grinds down onto Zayn's hand, and his grip tightens hard enough that Zayn thinks it’ll bruise.

          Harry lets out a loud moan and throws one arm up to cover his face, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Zayn. Fuck me, please. I want you to fuck me.”

          Zayn lifts his head to look at Harry, his chestnut and auburn hair spread out across his cream colored pillow. “Are you sure?” Zayn tests because Harry and he have done a lot, but not quite this.

          Harry nods enthusiastically and gives another, “Please,” so Zayn rifles through the bedside drawer and finds a box of condoms. He takes one out and throws the box back, but when he shifts back toward Harry, his knee slips and hits the side of his bed.

          Zayn lets out a small “Ow,” and scrambles back up to Harry, adjusting his balance. Harry laughs and brings his palm to his mouth, placing a kiss on it and bringing it down to rub soothingly over Zayn’s knee. Zayn chest tightens, and he stares at Harry for a moment, suddenly stunned by how much affection he feels towards Harry. He shakes his head, brushing any stray thoughts from his mind, and tears open the wrapper, rolling the condom on.

          Zayn looks up at Harry. “Yeah?”

          “Yeah.” Harry smiles crookedly, his left dimple indenting his cheek, and Zayn really doesn’t understand how he can be the one looking so smug in this situation.

          Zayn slowly pushes into Harry, feeling the tight warmth envelop him inch by inch. He runs his hands down Harry’s chest and wraps a hand firmly around Harry, stroking him and giving him time to adjust.

         Harry pushes his hips up towards Zayn, so Zayn runs his hands through his hair softly, trying to relax him, and murmurs, “You good, babe?”

          Harry smiles at the endearment and nods before reaching to hold onto Zayn’s waist and canting his hips up again.

          Zayn places both of his hands on either side of Harry’s head, and pulls out slowly before easing his way back into Harry, keeping a slow pace with languid, even strokes. He traces his hands over Harry’s torso, and when Zayn’s nails catch slightly on his nipples, Harry’s breath hitches. Zayn runs his hands over them again this time teasing them between his fingers. Harry moans low, and Zayn lets the sound reverberate through him, concentrating on the feeling of Harry around him, the heat radiating between them, and the way Harry’s body moves with his. Harry arches his back up against him, and Zayn wraps his arm around his waist, leaning forward and bringing their bodies flush against each other. He nuzzles his nose into Harry’s neck, humming softly, and presses open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s chest and neck.

          Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, holding onto him tightly and pressing his fingers roughly into his back. He hitches his thighs around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn can feel them squeeze his torso when Harry rocks back up to him with greater effort than before. Harry lets out a heavy breath that falls against Zayn’s ear.  
  
          “Please, Zayn. I need… I need more,” Harry says between uneven breaths. “I want…”

          Harry looks at Zayn with heavy lidded eyes, and Zayn feels a rush of heat run through his body. Harry’s cheeks and mouth are flushed, and Zayn can’t help but take Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and tug on it roughly before letting it go, now slick from Zayn’s mouth. Zayn nudges Harry’s nose with his own, trying to focus his attention. “Tell me, Harry. C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want.” Zayn purposefully moves his hips forward agonizingly slowly, pausing to pull himself tight against Harry and grind his hips.

          Harry lets out a strangled groan, arching his back further against Zayn. “Fuck,” Harry pants. “I want…I need you to fuck me, Zayn. Please.” He pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “I need to feel you. Harder, faster, deeper. I need to feel everything... I wanna be sore when I wake up next to you tomorrow.”

          Zayn curses under his breath and drops his hands to Harry’s hips, snapping his own forward, feeling his pulse echo through every part of his body. Harry locks his ankles together around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn’s limbs start to go weak at the feeling of Harry’s thighs wrapped around him so tightly.  Zayn lowers his head, trying to kiss Harry, but they’re moving too quickly, too erratically, so they share hot breaths instead, foreheads pressed together. Zayn lifts Harry’s hips off the bed, thrusting in roughly, and Harry takes in a sharp breath, his mouth falling open. Zayn tightens his grip on Harry’s hips, moving in short, quick thrusts. A string of incoherent obscenities falls from Harry’s mouth, and he reaches down between them to touch himself, but Zayn grabs his wrists and holds them down at Harry’s sides.

          “Not yet, babe. Ride me, yah?”

           Harry nods dazedly, so Zayn taps his hip lightly with his fingertips, and Harry scrambles to get on top of him, gangly legs coming to rest at either side of Zayn’s hips. When Harry lowers himself back down onto Zayn, he looks at him with glassy eyes, hands planted on Zayn’s chest covering up the wings tattooed there, thumbs meeting at the cupid’s bow of the scarlet lips. Harry runs his fingers over the tattooed mouth and leans down, pressing a kiss of his own on top of it. Harry raises and lowers himself onto Zayn, building a rhythm, and Zayn runs his hands up and down his thighs, squeezing them and feeling Harry’s muscles shift underneath his soft skin.

          Zayn rocks his hips up at the same time Harry presses down on him, and his body feels alive, electricity flowing through him, and even his fingertips feel more sensitive as he runs his hands over the soft hair on Harry’s legs. Zayn repeats the action, and Harry’s mouth falls open with a high-pitched whine, eyes shut tight.

         Zayn strokes Harry’s cheek and takes his chin between his fingers. “That good, baby?”

         Harry gives a strained hum of approval, and Zayn smiles to himself, out of breath. He thrusts his hips up against Harry hard, digging his hands into the soft flesh at his hips for leverage as he pulls Harry down on top of him. Harry’s mouth drops open again, and before Zayn realizes what he’s doing, two of his fingers are in Harry’s mouth, pressing against his tongue. Harry closes his mouth around them and sucks on them, making Zayn groan, feeling the gruff rumble of it in his throat in sharp contrast to the soft warmth of Harry’s mouth and tongue against his fingers. Zayn slips his fingers out and drags them down Harry’s chest and stomach, admiring the glistening trail they leave behind.

         Zayn wraps his hand around Harry’s cock again, spreading the saliva and mixing it with the precome he gathers when he runs his thumb over Harry’s tip. Harry cries out and lurches forward, scratching angry, scarlet lines down Zayn’s chest with his blunt nails as his hands ball into fists.

        He breathes out heavily, and Zayn can barely make out what Harry’s saying when he asks, “Zayn, can I? Can I please…”

        “Yeah, sweetheart. Yeah, you can come now.”

         Harry’s head falls back and all his muscles tighten until he lets out a choked groan, warm stripes falling across his stomach and over Zayn’s hand. He lets himself fall forward and wraps his arms around Zayn, nuzzling into him at the curve of his neck and shoulder and giving him lazy, appreciative kisses. Zayn thrusts inside Harry roughly a couple more times before he’s coming himself, white sparks behind his eyelids as the heat inside his body spreads across every limb and loosens all his muscles.

         They stay still for a while, huddled together, chests rising and falling against each other, until their breathing becomes even and the come Harry spread onto Zayn becomes tacky and slightly uncomfortable. Zayn moves Harry beside him on the bed, earning from Harry a low a groggy grumble, and picks up one of Harry’s shirts from off the floor. He wipes himself off and then Harry. As soon as he’s done, Harry grabs and tosses the soiled shirt somewhere to the side and brings Zayn back down, so Harry can cuddle up to his side, an arm across his chest and a leg tossed over Zayn’s.

         Harry murmurs something against Zayn’s neck that he can’t quite understand. He gives Harry a questioning hum, but Harry only replies, voice worn out and sleepy, “Nothing. I’m just really glad you decided to come over this weekend.”

         Zayn feels the same tightening in his chest, that crazed mixture of complete enamor and uneasiness. He kisses the top of Harry’s head, running his fingers through his hair and mumbles, “Sweet dreams, Harry.”

          Harry purrs happily, pressing himself closer, and Zayn forces his mind to concentrate on the weight of Harry’s body against his and his own relaxed limbs, focusing in on the lazy haze still crowding his brain and pushing him to sleep.

*****

         Zayn wakes up with a sudden start to the darkness of Harry’s room and his snoring- exhaling breaths falling softly into Zayn’s collarbones. The same anxious panic he felt those first few days in the cafeteria running through his bones. Zayn looks up to the walls behind Harry, at the posters hanging up and his books stacked in the corner. He looks down at Harry’s bare, pale shoulders and the hand resting on Zayn’s knee. He looks at everything Harry is willing to share with him, while Zayn is not. Lying in Harry’s bed, still naked, Zayn feels too raw, like a frayed wire in an overworked circuit.

         Zayn untangles Harry’s arms and legs from around him carefully, trying not to wake him. He sets Harry’s back against the bed gently, settling his blankets back over him. Harry’s hands reach out lazily, and Zayn winces when they eventually find him again. He feels the familiar stab of guilt at Harry’s easy affections in his chest.  

         Zayn moves his hand and gets off the bed; the creaking it makes as he moves shakes and disturbs the air in the room. He looks back to make sure Harry’s still sleeping before grabbing his clothing from off the floor and slipping his boxers and jeans on quickly. As he puts on his shirt a single thread of thought keeps running through his head: go back, take off your clothes and sleep where you should tonight, pretend this never happened. Zayn’s hands keep moving, though, as if on auto pilot, pulling the fabric over his head and his feet into fuzzy socks and worn in shoes. He looks back to Harry, body now spread across his small bed to compensate for Zayn’s absence. Zayn takes the second pillow he was using and places it underneath Harry’s arm before grabbing his bag and slipping out into the foggy night.

*****

          The next day Zayn wakes up late in the afternoon with a dull ache in the back of his head and sore eyes. He doesn't know why until he remembers the night before, and the weight of what he’s done overtakes him until it feels like there’s a concrete slab resting on his chest. When he sits up in bed his head starts to spin, and he feels nauseous. 

               “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

              He clambers around in his bed, searching for his phone that’s lost in his sheets. When he finally finds it, he types in Niall’s number, hands not quite working, so he has to try a couple of times. Niall’s phone after several rings goes to voicemail, but Zayn can’t possibly fathom how he can say everything he needs to in a single message, so he swings his legs around, readying himself to get dressed, but when he looks up, catching a glance of himself in the mirror, his body freezes. He stares at his reflection and hesitantly reaches up, running his hands across the red lines on his chest and the dark marks sprinkled across his throat and collarbones, still tender from the night before. When he swallows his throat burns, so he quickly throws a sweatshirt on. Even with the markings covered up though, Zayn still feels them burning against his skin, and the more  he thinks about it the more overwhelmed and ashamed he becomes. He shoves a beanie over his head and slips on a pair of Vans, heading out the door for Niall’s dorm.  He pulls his hood up when he gets outside and braces himself against the cold as he rides over to Niall’s on his board, the physical exertion helping to relieve some of the anxiety running through his body.

           When he reaches Niall’s door, he knocks on it loudly, hoping he’s already awake.

           “Niall! Niall, you up? I need to talk to you about something! About Harry! I fucked up, man.” He hears scuffling on the other side of the door and a loud bang that sounds like someone crashing into a piece of furniture. “Niall? Are you alright?”

           The door in front of him is thrown open hastily, and Niall’s face appears from behind it, flushed, with his hair in disarray. “Aye, Zaynie! What’s the craic?”

           Behind Niall Zayn hears someone ask, “Did he say something about Harry?”

           Zayn peeks behind Niall’s shoulder and sees Louis hurriedly throwing on his shirt and grabbing for his shoes. Zayn turns back to Niall who runs a hand through his hair clearly uncomfortable.

           Niall laughs, but it sounds thin and strained. “Wow, this is so awkward.”

           Louis, finally fully dressed, locks eyes with Zayn, and Zayn takes a step back from Niall muttering, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry…”

           He turns around and begins quickly making his way back to his dorm room, throwing down his board and shoving off of the pavement as hard as he can manage to build speed. Behind him he hears Niall call, “Zayn, wait!” and Louis’ repeated questions of, “Did he say something about Harry? What happened to Harry?”

            When Zayn gets back to his dorm he feels lost, thoughts chaotic and flustered. The only option he’d thought of was to seek comfort and advice in Niall because although Zayn jokes about it, Niall has actually become one a Zayn’s best friends- someone who grounds him when his brain’s frantic from self-doubt. Unable to think of what he should do with himself and all the excess energy he has coursing through his body, he remembers what always works best whenever he feels this helpless and confused: a talk with his mom.

 

             As soon as Zayn sees her face on his laptop screen, he feels a sense of hope, like maybe the situation isn’t a lost cause, and he can figure out a way to mend everything he messed up so badly.

             The first thing his mother says when she sees him is, “Uh oh. What’s going on, honey? What happened?”

              Zayn runs his hand over his face. “Is it really that obvious?”

              “You look awful, sweetie.”

              Zayn scoffs and the corners of his mouth tilt up. “Thanks, Mom.”

              They sit in silence for a few moments while Zayn considers how he should start the conversation.

              “You haven’t called in a while, Zayn.”

              A pang of guilt hits his chest, and he doesn’t think he’s ever disliked himself more than he does now. He’d been trying to keep it all together, balance everything and everyone while he adjusted to this new part of his life, but looking at his mom now, it’s obvious to him that he’s failed. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

              “Oh, it’s okay. I just figured you’re busy. School can do that. And other things.” Trisha raises her eyebrows expectantly, mouth drawn in a sympathetic line, and Zayn knows she understands.

              He lets go of a deep breath. “I messed up. Pretty badly, Mom. Like, really badly, actually. I met this guy that I really, really like, and I messed it up. I knew what I was doing was stupid…and ridiculous… and I did it anyway.”

              “Well, why did you do it anyway if you knew it was the wrong thing to do?”

              Zayn covers his face with his hands. “Because I was scared. And dumb. Because _I’m_ dumb.”

              “Oh, sweetie, you’re not dumb. You know that. Everybody messes up sometimes, and we all have things we need to work on. And you’ve already been working on yours. Remember how you thought going to school overseas wasn't even an option? And you got mad anytime your father and I brought it up? Well now look at you now, half way through your first semester. I think you just scared yourself, honey. You worked yourself up and didn't let yourself have what you really wanted, just like with going to college.”

              Zayn rests his head in his hand, thinking about everything she’s said, and of course she’s right. He does have quite the tendency to let nerves get the better of him until the risk of losing something becomes greater than the reward.

              He tilts his head to rest it on the palm of his hand. “So what do I do now?”

              “Well that’s something you have to figure out for yourself, but I would start by apologizing. You need to try to make things right on your end at least. Don’t expect anything in return, though. An apology doesn't necessarily mean he’ll forgive you.”

               “I know, I know.” Zayn looks at his watch, figuring it’s still fairly early back home, and wondering why he can hear the sound of something sizzling in a frying pan in the background. “Are you cooking something?”

              Trisha nods, a warm smile on her face. “Mhmm. I made samosas and chicken masala. Along with some other stuff. You know how I get into these moods, and I practically clear out the fridge and pantry.”

              Zayn groans and holds his hand to his stomach. “I miss your homemade food so much. Whatever they serve here is awful. They do have a froyo machine, though.”

              Trisha laughs, and Zayn’s own face brightens at the sound. “So is that what you’ve been living off of? Frozen sugar? Don’t worry, I’m going to be cooking nonstop when you get home; there’ll be lots of food to eat.”

              “I’m counting on it.” Zayn hears the soft beeping of a timer going off in the background. “Alright, well, I better go. Tell everyone I say ‘Hi’.”

              “Will do. Everyone’s been missing you a lot around here. Waliyha and Safaa refuse to admit it, but I know they do.” Trisha pauses for a moment. “I hope it all works out, honey. I know you’re trying your best. I love you.”

              Zayn swallows around the lump in his throat and smiles back at her. “Thanks, Mom. For everything. I love you, too.”

              He waves goodbye to her and closes his laptop screen, feeling substantially better than he had at the beginning the conversation. At least now, he has a clearer idea of what he needs to do, but the thought of baring everything to Harry with little to no hope of forgiveness or reciprocation, is terrifying. Zayn steels himself against the fear, thinking that even if he won’t do it for himself, it’s at least what Harry deserves.

*****

              Zayn calls Niall a few hours later that night and suggests they go kick a football around a bit to talk about everything that’s been going on. When Zayn gets to the field, Niall’s shifting the ball between his feet, looking nervous, and Zayn hates it. When Niall sees Zayn, he gives him a hesitant smile and scratches the back of his head, as if unsure on how to proceed. Zayn rolls his eyes and pulls him into a big hug, and a sigh of relief washes over him when he hears Niall giggle.

               “What are you looking so down about? Did Derby lose another game?”

               Niall laughs and hugs Zayn again. “I thought you were mad at me, Zaynie.”

               “Why would I be mad at you?” Zayn takes the ball and takes a few steps back before dropping the ball to the ground and kicking it to Niall.

               Niall dribbles the ball between his own feet, keeping his eyes down and watching the motion. “Because well, this morning…and Louis…”

               “No, Ni, I’m not upset about that. Honestly. I’m actually kind of glad something’s working out for one of us. Besides, Louis apologized about before, y’know, in his own way.”

               Niall pauses his motions with the ball and looks back up at Zayn thoughtfully. “Yah, I think he’s just a bit overprotective. Was a bit upset when you left this morning after mentioning Harry.” Zayn groans and shakes his head, the awful feeling that twists his stomach into knots coming back again. “So you wanna tell Dr. Love what happened?”

              

               Zayn relays the occurrences from last night to Niall’s call and watches as the expressions on Niall’s face change with every turning point in the story, mimicking what Zayn himself had felt at the time.

               “Wow. That’s um… well that’s kind of a shit thing to do, mate.” Zayn nods, agreeing and feeling too ashamed to say anything. “But I think your mum’s right. You just have to tell Harry how you feel. And no holding back this time.” He puts both hands on Zayn’s shoulders and looks him at him squarely. “This is no time for Reserved Zayn.” Niall throws his arms up in the air and begins a rousing rendition of “Try a Little a Little Tenderness”. He wiggles his legs back and forth and gives an overdramatic, soulful look. “Squeeze her! Don’t tease her! Never leave her! Get her to try, try, try a little tenderness!” Niall grabs Zayn’s arm, spins him in a circle, and then gets down on one knee. He puts his hand over his heart and closes his eyes, looking like an oversentimental R&B singer. “You got to know how to love her man, you’ll be surprised.” He finishes off with a breathy, “Oh yah,” and bows, thanking Zayn and his imaginary audience as Zayn claps for Niall.

               He settles back to his usual relaxed stance, looking pleased with a hand on his hip. “If you can give a performance half as good as mine, I don’t see how Harry could say no.”

               Zayn laughs and shakes his head. “Well, you seem to be doing something right. How’d the thing with Louis start anyway?”

               Niall’s cheeks redden, and he beams at the mention of him and Louis. “He invited me to another party of his, and he’s well fit so…it just kind of happened.”

               “Just like that?”

               “Yah, Zayn. Not everybody feels the need to make things impossibly complicated.”

 

               Niall spends the night with Zayn, and Zayn appreciates the company, but all he can think cuddled up next to Niall is how he left Harry alone. Niall spends Sunday morning and afternoon attempting to cheer Zayn up in all the ways he knows how, but despite his valiant efforts, Zayn can’t pull himself out from the heavy, gloomy mess he’s under. To ease his mind, when his thoughts wander, he pictures himself confronting Harry and telling him everything he already should have: how he adores him and is already used to the way their hands fit together, that he misses the way he hums under his breath when he gets ready and always has the strangest things to say. The ending he wants though, the ending where Harry forgives him, is always interrupted by the nagging knowledge in his mind that Harry could very well say no, and it’d be entirely justified.

               By four o’clock, Niall’s getting antsy, and Zayn knows he trying, but Niall can be only kept indoors and stagnant for so long.

               “Sorry, Ni. You can leave if you want. I know this has been sort of a miserable day.” Niall bites down on his lower lip, and Zayn can see him fighting between the urge to leave and his desire to stay with Zayn and help him.

               “No, mate, it’s alright. You just need something to get you out of your head.” Niall pauses for a moment thinking, before a wide grin spreads across his face. Zayn quirks up an eyebrow at him, questioning. Niall flops over on to the bed next to Zayn, resting his head on his arm and looking at him conspiratorially. “You wanna get really pissed?”

               Zayn laughs, and nods his head, thinking that maybe Niall really is a sage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments you've been leaving with your thoughts on what I'm writing! Whether it's advice or encouragement, it really means a lot, and I appreciate it! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry looks up, shaking his head and give a scoff of incredulity. “Well, that’s just bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit! Where the fuck do you even get off at asking to talk to me? You tell me to tell off my roommate for locking me out, to stop being so nice to people. What? Are you the exception? Am I supposed to just sit around and take it as long as it’s from you?” Harry drops his head, smiling to himself brokenly before looking back up. “The thing is I would’ve. I was so happy to have any part of you, any part you’d give me. I would’ve done whatever you wanted, Zayn.” Harry’s voice breaks on his name, and Zayn’s never been so disgusted with himself to have caused it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a little early, since I'll be busy visiting family tomorrow. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, a portion of this chapter was heavily inspired by "Visions" by The Maine, so take a listen if you'd like!

               The next morning Zayn wakes up to a throbbing pain that echoes through his entire head and Niall shoving his shoulder, softly saying, “Oi, Zayn, you gotta wake up. You’ve got Painting in, like, 20 minutes.”

               Zayn groans angrily and shoves his hand in whatever direction he thinks Niall’s in, hoping to get rid of his tormentor. He misses, and Niall laughs at him.

               Zayn groans. “Kill me, Niall. Just kill me. Put me out of my hungover misery.”

               “Ugh, now who’s being the dramatic one? Get your sorry arse out of bed. I already picked out some clothes for you.”

               Zayn doesn’t move. “Who even cares? It’s just Painting,” he says nonchalantly, trying to convince Niall that his sleep is of course of the utmost importance, and he should definitely leave Zayn alone to sleep for at least ten more hours. “I’ll make it up later.”

               “Nope. She’s picking out the winners that get to be displayed in the art festival today. You gotta be there because I know she’s gonna choose you.”

               Zayn gives one final grunt before rolling over to stare at the ceiling. He rolls his head to the side and sees Niall standing there with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. Zayn sighs, coming to terms with Niall’s determination, and lifts himself slowly off the bed until he’s sitting upright. He rubs his fingers along his temples trying to ease the throbbing in his brain, but it doesn’t help. He feels like death. Niall hands him a bottle of water and a couple of pills, and Zayn takes them gratefully.

               “How are you even standing, dude?” Zayn's voice comes out scratchy, and he realizes that for some reason his throat is raw and sore.

               Niall scoffs. “I wasn’t the one who got us kicked out the pub. You were so gone, bro.”

               Zayn thinks back to the previous night, but it’s hazy, and all he remembers is shouting with Niall for more shots, coming back to his room and smoking a couple joints together, and some embarrassing lamentations about the cuteness of Harry’s ass while Niall was trying to get him to sleep. Since only a small portion of it involved actively thinking about Harry, Zayn considers the night a great success.

               He pulls on his shoes, all of his body feeling like creaky old furniture, and fully stands up. His heads swims, but Niall steps forward with a cup of tea he must’ve gotten just before waking Zayn up. Steam is floating out from the lid, and the heat is welcome when Zayn takes it in his hands.

               Zayn steps forward and wraps his arms around Niall. “You’re the best, man. Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

               “Yah, I know,” Niall replies with a smirk on his face. “That’s what you kept telling me last night. You’re such a sappy drunk. Who knew that’s what’s really inside you, Blue Steel Zayn Malik.” Zayn laughs at himself, and Niall pats his shoulder as he adds, “I love you, too.”

*****

          Zayn stares at the board in the front of him, at Professor M’s lips moving and the PowerPoint's slides changing, but he can’t concentrate. The lecture sounds like meaningless mumbling that slips through his already foggy mind. As usual his thoughts wander to Harry- smiling on their way to class, his pulse beating lightly against Zayn’s finger as they hold hands.

          Zayn gives up trying to pay attention and collects his things. Professor M gives him a concerned glance, but Zayn ignores it and walks out the door, making his way to the nearest bathroom. He feels exhausted and sick to his stomach as he slumps his way through the art building and out towards fresh air. He keeps his eyes down, the lines of concrete underneath him passing slowly. He curses himself, his idiocy, his cowardice. A lump forms in his throat, and he raises his head to fight back the tears pooling in his eyes.

          His breath catches in his throat, and his feet stop on their own accord when he looks up. Harry’s walking across the lawn, easy gait as he makes his way with his cognac leather bag thrown over his shoulder. Harry trips over something, or probably nothing, in the grass, and his lips form a small “Oof!” Zayn can’t hear because of the distance. Zayn smiles to himself, and as he watches Harry walk, Zayn feels the familiar pull towards Harry that he suspects had him crashing into him in the first place.

         Harry runs his fingers through his hair, and when he flips his head to brush a few stray pieces out of his face, his eyes meet Zayn’s. Even from a distance, Zayn can see his jaw clench, and Harry quickly dips his head and turns away.

         “Harry! Harry!” Zayn shouts. Harry keeps walking, but Zayn jogs after him. “Harry, please. I just want to talk to you. Can I please talk to you?”

          Over his shoulder Harry shouts, “I don’t want to talk to you!”

          Zayn slows down to a brisk walk, lingering a few paces behind Harry.  “I know. And- And you’re completely right. That’s why I’m asking you. Please, if you’ll listen to me. Just for a minute.” Harry doesn’t look back at him or slow down. Zayn thinks back to his mom and Niall’s words of advice and lets the last bit of pride fall from him, saying, “Harry, please. I’m begging.”

           Harry spins around quickly, and Zayn’s never seen this expression on Harry’s face, never seen Harry anywhere close to angry, let alone the seething he’s witnessing now. Harry looks right through him, and the intensity of it hits Zayn, feeling like a punch to his chest. Through closed teeth Harry spits, “You left me.” He shoves a finger into Zayn’s chest and repeats it again, this time louder, “You left me!”

            “I know, Harry. I’m so sorry-”

            “And you didn’t even call! I thought you were sick or something Zayn! Can you fucking believe that? That's the only thing my idiot brain could come up with! I thought you didn’t want to bother me. I was about to bring you some fucking soup! But then I saw you with, Niall, tossing a fucking football around, and Louis told me… and it hit me. It finally hit me. If you just wanted to fuck around, fine. If you got bored with me, fine. But you didn’t even have the decency to call! To text me even!”

           “I couldn’t, Harry! I couldn’t! It wouldn’t be enough, and I didn’t even want to I just… I didn’t even know why I did it! I knew it was wrong as soon as I got back to my room; I knew it even as I was leaving. I just…I just didn’t know how to go back.”

           Harry looks up, shaking his head and give a scoff of incredulity. “Well, that’s just bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit! Where the fuck do you even get off at asking to talk to me? You tell me to tell off my roommate for locking me out, to stop being so nice to people. What? Are you the exception? Am I supposed to just sit around and take it as long as it’s from you?” Harry drops his head, smiling to himself brokenly before looking back up. “The thing is I would’ve. I was so happy to have any part of you, any part you’d give me. I would’ve done whatever you wanted, Zayn.” Harry’s voice breaks on his name, and Zayn’s never been so disgusted with himself to have caused it.

            “I’m so sorry, Harry,” The words sound weak coming out of his mouth, and Zayn knows they’re not enough. “I was just so scared. I didn’t know…I feel so much, Harry. Whenever I’m with you, whenever I think of you…it’s like I’m being pulled towards you. I’ve never felt anything like it…in my life. Fuck, I don’t normally like anyone at all. And I was so scared I would mess it up, that you’d get bored-”

            Harry cuts him off, voice raised. “You don’t think I was scared? That I didn’t take any risks? I tried so hard, Zayn, so hard to give you what you needed. Don’t you remember? The first days in class where I could barely get a word out of you? Or in the library? You ignored me. I…I’ve never had that happen to me in my life for Christ’s sake. But I was already gone for you, Zayn-from the first time I saw you riding that stupid board around. I was already so far gone, and I don’t know why! I keep waiting for it to go away-”

             “You don’t get it, Harry.”

            Harry’s anger flares again at Zayn’s words. “What? What don’t I get, Zayn?”

           “Everybody likes you, Harry! It’s easy to want when you’re already wanted!”

           Harry stares at him for a moment in silence before replying in a low voice, “That doesn’t excuse what you did, Zayn. You treated me like shit. I mean, I know we never really talked about it, but I thought…I thought we were more than…”

          Zayn wipes at his eyes, and is surprised to feel the dampness of tears already fallen. “We were, Harry. We were. And I know I was awful. I knew the whole time. I was shit the whole time. It was always you trying, you doing everything, and me pushing you back because I was a coward. And I’m so sorry. And I can’t say that enough because it doesn’t show you…it doesn’t show you how sick I’ve been feeling since I left you. I was an idiot, Harry, an absolute idiot.  And I understand that you don’t want to talk to me. I just…I need to tell you what I’m sorry for not telling you before. Because I should’ve.

         “I should’ve told you that I’m always thinking about you. That I’m in awe every time I see you. That whatever time I spend with you… it’s never enough. I always want more. And I wish I would’ve done things right because I want to learn everything about you. I need you to know that. I need you to know, that when I left you that night, it wasn’t me. Because all of me wants you. More than anything else. It was my fears, my own faults- everything that stopped me from treating you how I really wanted to –how I should’ve.” Zayn takes a step closer to Harry, hesitantly resting his forehead on his chest, and the small amount of contact send shivers over his shoulders and arms. “But now I know how I feel- I mean always knew but I was confused.” He looks back up at Harry. “But I won’t do that anymore, Harry. I promise. I promise I’ll do better because that’s what you deserve.” Zayn takes in a deep breath, relief passing over him after finally getting the words out.  He waits for an indiscernible amount of time for Harry to respond, hearing only himself breathe in and out.

            Then he feels one of Harry’s arms wrap around his shoulder and pat him on the back.

            “G’Bye, Zayn.”

            A shot of pain rips through Zayn’s chest, and he scrunches his eyes closed at the force of it. He leans into Harry, holding onto him tighter to get whatever last bit of him he can.

            He thinks of begging, of trying to keep fighting, but he knows Harry’s made his decision, and Zayn knows that he deserves it. With a strangled voice he replies, “Goodbye, Harry.”

            Harry pulls back, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and without looking at Zayn, walks away.

            Zayn slumps down onto the grass, knees pulled up to his chest, and buries his face in his arms. His Vans are soaked through from standing on the wet lawn, and his feet grow cold as his socks dampen. Zayn takes a stuttering breath and begins sobbing into his coat, finally not bothering to look up and see who notices.

*****

         The next two weeks go by agonizingly slowly. Zayn spends the majority of his time mindlessly completing homework and torturing himself with thoughts of Harry: what he should have said differently in the end and how he should’ve acted all along. He finds himself aching to have Harry around him, remembering the times they would lay on his bed for hours, doing nothing in particular. Zayn would ask what Harry was thinking- he would always say the silliest things- and they’d make up stories, creating impossible worlds together. Sometimes he becomes so weary of feeling lonely and dejected that he pretends Harry is still around him. When he’s working he makes believe Harry is sitting across from him reading, and when he’s lying down in bed he reaches out his hand and imagines Harry’s hand is there to take it, tricking himself so well that he can feel the heat of Harry’s palm against his own. Every day the lonesomeness settles further in Zayn until he’s painfully aware how much and how quickly he had grown attached to Harry.

         In Psychology he continuously finds himself distracted, staring at the back of Harry’s head, transfixed by every movement he makes. Every so often, Harry will catch his eye, in the cafeteria or quad, or when he’s leaving class, but he offers Zayn nothing, not a smile or greeting. Every time Harry ignores him, it feels like the air is knocked out of him, and Zayn has to remind himself to breathe. It only gets worse when Harry starts to wear the clothing Zayn had left in his room earlier on: his leather jacket and tie dye t-shirt. Zayn doesn’t understand why Harry’s doing it, but that doesn’t stop him from vividly remembering smelling Harry on his clothing and sheets or the feel of cotton against bare skin. Zayn figures he might as well get used to it, though, since he certainly doesn’t have the courage to ask Harry for it all back. He’s not sure if he even wants to. Despite the way it makes his heart seize, Zayn likes that Harry still has a part of him that he carries around and touches.

         Thankfully, Niall spends nearly all his free time with Zayn, staying the night so often that he eventually becomes a permanent fixture that takes up what was once Harry’s space in Zayn’s bed. Zayn loves him for it, thinks that Niall should be anointed as a saint for helping Zayn maintain some of his sanity, but no matter how hard he tries or how many jokes he tells, Zayn always has Harry in the back of his mind.

         The only real relief Zayn finds is in sleep, where his brain conjures up images of him and Harry together as they could’ve been. He dreams of them walking along the beach back home and eating ice cream from Marianne’s; pictures Harry kissing him on the floor of his room during a lazy, hot day in the middle of a July. He begins to cherish the dreams and the solace they bring him; the visions his brain creates in his sleep seeming real and acting as a balm for his heart. But they’re only temporary, and every time Zayn wakes up to reality, he finds disappointment rushing through him all over again.

*****

           “Zayn. Excuse me, Zayn? Mr. Malik?”

           Zayn’s snaps out his daydream and turns his head in the direction of his name being called. “Hmm?” His eyes focus, and he finds Professor M waving her hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. “Oh, sorry Professor. Got a little sidetracked, sorry.”

           “Yeah. I’ve seen you doing that a lot lately since I got back.” Professor M had been gone for two weeks for some sort of teachers’ conference that advocates for the arts. To be honest Zayn is glad to have her back. The substitute they’d called in to replace her had the most draining monotone voice and always smelled slightly of pickled onions. “Is everything alright, Zayn?” Her eyebrows are pulled together, and her head is tilted to the side sympathetically. The gesture reminds him of his mom when he'd come home after a rough day at school.

            Zayn runs his hands through his hair and clears his throat, plastering a smile onto his face. “Yah, yah. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

            She purses her lips, giving him a doubtful look, but doesn’t push the matter. “Well, I’ve come over here to ask you if you’ve decided about the art show yet.”

            Zayn looks at her confused. “Art show?” He wracks his brain, finally thinking back to a couple weeks before when Niall forcibly dragged him out of bed so Zayn could be there when Professor M announced who’d be showcased in the art show. It dawns on him that he must have missed the announcement when he was out talking with Harry. She’d left the class after for her trip, and frankly the entire show had been forgotten in the chaos of Zayn’s mind.

             “I sent you an email about it, as well. Have you checked your email at all?”

              Zayn shakes his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve been…busy.” When Zayn’s upset he has a predictable pattern of cutting off nearly all communication. He hasn’t even talked to his mom again since that day a couple of weeks ago. He had tried to tell Niall to leave him be, but Niall refused to leave Zayn to his moping. Zayn’s grateful that despite only having known each for a few months, sometimes Niall knows what Zayn needs better than himself. Zayn’s been keeping up with schoolwork, though, the need to maintain his scholarship motivating him. “Is there still time? Can I still do it? Or have you picked someone else?

               “No, no, you can still participate in the show. You do know that it’s open to the public? Other students, faculty, and people will be able to see your work.”

                 Zayn imagines people walking around a cavernous room, harsh white light illuminating what he’s created, and he honestly can’t think of anything more terrifying. He’s tired of being scared though- tired of not letting himself enjoy or experience things because of fear.

                  “Yeah, I, uh, I want to do it.”

                   Professor M smiles at him encouragingly. “Brilliant, Zayn. That’s absolutely brilliant. I think your work’s going to be a really lovely addition to the show.” Zayn smiles back at her, appreciating her kind words. “Oh. There is one thing, though. You have to have at least four pieces to display in the show. And right now all we’ve got is your landscape and portrait. So you’re going to have to pull out some pieces you already have or make a couple more.”

                     Zayn nods, up for the challenge. Zayn’s normally a very slow worker, taking his time an agonizing over every detail, but he’s picked up his pace since he started college; he finished his landscape and portrait in only a month. “Okay. How much time until the show?”

                     “One week.”

*****

                     Zayn considers having a couple of pieces he’s fairly proud of shipped over from home, but when he takes a look at the numbers, he figures the shipping is way out of his budget, and even more important than that, he cannot afford to take a chance with the packages being delayed if the first fiasco with his boxes is anything to go by.

                     So he gets to work.

                     At the beginning, Zayn’s frustrated. For the first day, he can’t settle on any concepts for his pieces, scribbling down idea after idea, sketch after sketch, all of which get thrown in the trash. Meanwhile the clock on the studio’s wall begins to drive him crazy as he watches what little time he has left get eaten away.

                     Finally, when he’s out for a walk during the afternoon on the second day, he locks in on his first idea. He immediately starts planning, pulling out his sketch book and sitting down on the lawn to draw until his idea begins to take a more concrete shape.

                    When he’s sleeping that same night, he realizes what his second piece is going to be. In his dream it’s riveting and fluid, different from any other painting Zayn has done before, but when he wakes up the next morning he knows it’s what we wants to create for his final piece.

                   Zayn works tirelessly until the day of the art show, getting only a few hours of sleep a night, if any at all. He’s spends every moment of his extra time working on his projects: carrying and eating his meals messily in his hands as he rides over to the art building, writing down notes for new ideas on how to approach or refine his pieces in his Psychology notes.

                   Niall stops by every so often to work on his own projects for class and make sure that Zayn’s eating enough food and drinking enough water. He always tries to sneak peeks of what Zayn’s working on, but Zayn pushes him away, insisting that they have to remain a surprise until the show.

*****

               On the afternoon of the auction, Zayn makes one final swoop of his brush. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a heavy sigh, setting down his paintbrush. He walks over to wear he’s been keeping his first piece and sets it down next to his newly completed second one. He takes a step back and studies them both, taking in all the result of all the hard work he’s been putting in. The first piece is a large portrait he spray-painted of Niall.

                In the painting he’s lying on the grass, head cradled in one hand with a bright smile on his face, the sun glinting off his braces. He almost looks like a caricature, but that’s how Zayn sees Niall: vivid colors and bold lines that dance across the paper unapologetically and with a vibrancy you can’t ignore. When Zayn looks at it, he feels happy and warm as if the sun’s reached through the art building’s concrete walls and is shining on him; it reminds him of how lucky he is to have found friendship so far away from home.

               The second piece was much more difficult and different from anything else he’s done. Usually Zayn goes for an urban aesthetic- that’s why he’d started with Niall’s portrait first. He’s comfortable with spray-paint, can handle the medium well and knows how the piece is going to turn out when he uses it. For his second painting, he’d gone for something more abstract, layering thin coats of paint over each other until the numerous hues of emerald and cerulean looked like they were intertwined and floating, laced together. At the bottom he’d painted a pale profile looking up that dissipates at the top, blurring and turning into curls of cream colored smoke. He titled the painting _Aquarium_.

                  Whereas Niall’s portrait had been easy and fun, painting the second piece had been a therapeutic challenge for Zayn.  He had used techniques he’d never tried before, and there were many times he’d huffed in frustration as he wiped off a layer of ill-placed paint, but with every brushstroke, he channeled all the murkiness and heaviness he’d been feeling. He’d paid close attention to every detail, even in the early hours of the morning when his eyes burned, painstakingly careful with every layer of paint. Though he didn’t realize it at the beginning, looking at the painting now, he realizes it’s an apology: something beautiful to acknowledge the beauty he sees in Harry.

                 Zayn leaves the painting on one of the far tables to dry and sets the portrait down beside it. He finds a sticky note and a pen that’s lying around and writes a note explaining that the two pieces are for the show and “DO NOT TOUCH, NOT DRY”. He places the note by the two pieces, and for once he actually feels satisfied with his work. He could refine and tweak a few things, but they say and make him feel what he wants them to. Besides, when he began this project he didn’t seriously think he would finish them at all. He gives them a pleased nod and goes back to the table he was working at to pick up his bags and board, ready to get back to his dorm and take a much needed shower and nap.

*****

                  Zayn tucks his black shirt into his nicest, rip-free pair of jeans, and buttons his shirt up to the collar. He turns his head side to side and looks himself up and down before undoing the top button and then the second. He twists his mouth in the mirror, still unsure, and does them back up.

                  He’s nervous. Besides the obvious anxiety from having people see and scrutinize his work, Professor M had informed him on his way out of the studio that the head of the Art Department along with a gaggle of other important, high up people from the university would be stopping by to look at what the students had produced so far this semester. He hates himself for it, but he wants to impress them, wants to show them that their money isn’t going to waste.

                    Which is the reason why Zayn is now vainly trying to decide if all the buttons done up looks like he’s trying too hard, or if two buttons down looks unappreciative. He’d even shaven for this, something he hadn’t done in over a month because Harry told him he liked the burn of it.

                     He settles for one button undone.

*****

                     Niall arrives with Louis about an hour after the art show opens. He’d already told Zayn that he had a last minute exam retake he’d have to finish before coming over. When they walk in the door, Zayn breathes a sigh of relief, happy to see friendly, familiar faces.

                     Niall immediately strolls over to where Zayn is standing by the drinking fountain. With a proud smile on his face he gives Zayn a lung-crushing hug. “Bro! How are you doing?” He gestures around to the various art that decorates the walls. “This is so cool! I feel _quite_ posh.”

                     Zayn beams at him, nose and eyes crinkling. “Good, man, good. I’m not dead so a lot better than I thought I would be.”

                     Niall and Louis laugh along with him until Louis throws his arm up in the air, insisting, “C’mon now. I want to see the bloody paintings Niall’s been talking about. He says you’ve been an absolute prick not letting him see them.”

                     “It’s true,” Niall interjects. “Keeping secrets from his own mate. Even after I brought him food.”

                     Louis tuts disapprovingly. “Is that the way they teach you to treat your mates in America?”

                     Zayn points a finger at them both. “Keep talking like that and you’ll never get to see them.”

                     They both throw their hands up in surrender, so Zayn leads them through the archway to the next room over.

                      He stops them at his small section, and puts out his hand as if to display the pieces. “Tada…” Zayn smiles, lips pressed together, waiting for their reactions.

                      Niall lets out a surprised guffaw, hitting Zayn across the chest. “That’s me! Zayn, that’s me! Louis, look! Zayn painted me!” Niall moves alongside the portrait and imitates the exact expression Zayn spray-painted, silly grin and all. “This is so sick- I look so cool!”

                      He lets out a yell of excitement mixed with laughter, fists raised in the air, and a lady looking at one of the other student’s pieces looks over her shoulder, giving Niall a rude look. Louis gives her a sharp look in response, and she quickly turns back around.

                      “Louis, take a picture of me with it!” Louis takes out his phone, and Niall strikes a few poses as the camera clicks away. “C’mon, Zayn. I have to get one with the artist!” Zayn shakes his head coyly and shuffles over to the other side of the portrait, giving the camera two thumbs up. “Ah, these are definitely going in the scrapbook.”

                     “Niall wasn’t exaggerating, Zayn. You’re really fucking talented.”

                    Zayn feels his chest swell and his cheeks blush. “Thanks, man.”

                     Niall bounds over to Zayn and swings his arms around your shoulder. “See? Aren’t you glad you did this? Now you don’t have to hide everything in those notebooks and folders. Now everyone can see how brilliant you are!”

                      He gives Zayn a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek, and the heat in Zayn’s cheeks grows until he feels it on his ears and in his chest. He hugs Niall tightly, hiding his face in his neck. His smile is so wide he can feel the muscles in his cheeks straining from the effort.

                       “Thanks for coming you guys. It really means a lot. Like, you have no idea how happy I am that you guys came.” People had been walking around all night, some stopping to look at his pieces and give compliments, but Zayn hadn’t known what to do; he'd just stood there awkwardly trying to be polite and making more than necessary trips to the water fountain because the punch tasted awful.

                       He’s listening to Niall and Louis ramble on about their day’s occurrences, Niall laughing an inordinate amount, when over Louis’ shoulder he sees another familiar face enter the art show.

                       He shouldn’t be surprised Harry’s here. Zayn and Harry had had many discussions about art, and in their spare time together, they would lie opposite on Zayn’s bed together, Harry describing out loud silly and fantastical scenes in great detail while Zayn tried to draw them, sharing laughs at the end results.

                      Still, when Zayn sees Harry again, his good mood ebbs, deflating like a pin-pricked balloon.

                       Looking to Louis he asks, “Did you know he was going to be here?”

                      Louis’ mouth twists as he looks up at Zayn from under his lashes. “I may have had a slight inkling?” He gives Zayn a sympathetic look. “Sorry, mate, I just didn’t want to ruin your big night or make you worry any more than you already were.”

                       Zayn pats him on the shoulder. “It’s alright. It is what it is. Can’t stop him from going places. I just have to get used to it.”

                       “Yeah,” Louis says nodding. “It is what it is.”

                       Zayn looks back over his shoulder to find Harry already looking at him. He watches as Harry turns his head, looking into the cup of punch he’s holding before taking a deep breath and walking over to Zayn.

                        Zayn looks back to Niall and mutters under his breath, “Shit.”

                        Niall puts his hands on either of Zayn’s shoulders leaning close like a team huddle. Louis joins in. “Don’t worry. You look really hot.” Louis nods in agreement, and Zayn tries to laugh, but it ends up being thin and slightly panicked, like a dog’s whine. Niall looks over Zayn’s shoulder and then back to Louis. “Well, Tommo, I think it’s time for us to be go shove our faces full of those fruit and cheese I saw on the way in. I’ve been exercising a lot of self-restraint.”

                       Louis tosses his arm around Niall’s shoulders and pats his stomach. “Good lad. Come on, Ni.” Before walking away, Niall smiles encouragingly and pokes Zayn lightly on both nipples and his belly button. Zayn can’t remember how or why the gesture started, but it’s become something between just them, and Zayn appreciates it nonetheless.

                       When Harry finally makes his way over, Zayn tries to smile at him normally, but his whole body is tense as he digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

                      Harry waves and greets him with, “Hi, Zayn” and Zayn feels absolutely ridiculous when his heart flutters wildly in his chest. He blames it on Harry's ignoring his entire existence for three weeks.

                      “Hey, Harry. Glad you could make it to the art show.”

                      “Glad you decided to be in it.” Zayn nods and smiles politely, unsure of what to say next. Harry says nothing as he stands leisurely, surveying what Zayn has displayed on the wall. Zayn watches as his eyes move from piece to piece, lighting up when he sees the portrait of Niall and dimming again when he sees _Aquarium_. “Your art is really lovely, Zayn. It looks beautiful.”

                       “Thank you,” Zayn responds. He looks down, studying his unevenly tied shoe laces and the scuffed vinyl floor. The silence is suffocating him, and his body itches as he stands there. Zayn wishes the wall his art is tacked to would suddenly break at the seam and fall on top of him, squishing him and putting him out of his misery.

                        Zayn figures Harry must be feeling a fraction of what he is because when he glances up, Harry’s looking at him, eyes hesitant and flickering over Zayn’s face. Harry takes a sip of his punch, and Zayn watches as Harry’s mouth pulls into a dissatisfied frown.

                        “This punch tastes like shit.”

                         Zayn lets out a surprised laugh, and Harry’s eyes noticeably widen before he responds in kind. Through his laughter Zayn responds, “Yah, it really fucking does.”

                         Harry grins at him, dimples deepening and eyes shimmering, and Zayn remembers how incredible it feels to be on the receiving end of one Harry’s smiles. Zayn grins back, and the bright energy between them feels easy and natural.

                         Harry clears his throat, swirling the remainder of his drink around in his cup. “Do you wanna, like, get out of here? Go talk somewhere for a while?”

                         Zayn blinks a few times before stammering in surprise, “Uh, yeah, yeah. That’d be cool.”

                         “You don’t have to stick around to talk to anyone, right?”

                         Zayn thinks to the school officials who have yet to stop by his section. “Nope. Don’t need to talk to anyone.”

                         Harry gives him a small, lopsided smile, and walks a few steps over to the nearest trashcan, throwing out his drink. He walks back, and when he grabs Zayn’s hand, intertwining their fingers, Zayn feels his heart slam against his chest and fizzle out like a spent light bulb.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the shower Zayn washes Harry slowly, gently rubbing over the already forming bruises and marks from his mouth to relax his muscles. He shampoos Harry’s hair, haphazardly forming it into a swirl at the top of his head, so he looks like a melting ice cream cone. Zayn wants to tell him everything he’s feeling right now, all the overwhelming emotions of adoration and reassurance, but he doesn’t know how to word it. Instead he wraps his arms around Harry, both of them falling into a sleepy, heavy hug.
> 
> When they’re both rinsed off and dry, Zayn leads them back to the bed, lying together face to face. Harry looks to him, and Zayn can see a flash of panic and worry in his eyes. Zayn holds the side of Harry’s face with his hand, thumb softly stroking over his cheek.
> 
> “I’ll be here. I promise.”
> 
> Harry nods, giving him a fragile smile, before curling into Zayn and nodding off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this one's a bit late. My best friends have come home for spring break, so I've been a bit busy! I didn't want to post it without editing it properly, and this chapter's a little longer, so hopefully it's worth it!

               They get to Harry’s car, and when Harry let’s go of his hand, the cold breeze brushing against Zayn’s hand is all too apparent. He steps into the car and watches Harry fit the key in the ignition, turning on the heater and radio. A relaxing acoustic song comes on, and Zayn thinks he recognizes it as the tune Harry was trying to play on Niall’s guitar a while back. Harry hums along underneath his breath.

               A few minutes later they pull into a mostly empty parking lot, and Harry switches off the engine.

               He turns to Zayn. “Thought it might be better if we were, like, alone. That way we don’t have to worry about other people or…whatever.”

               Zayn nods stiffly, agreeing. Harry shifts his seat back, stretching out his legs, but Zayn stays still in his seat, hands folded in his lap. He doesn’t know why or what Harry wants to talk about, but Zayn’s willing to listen to him talk for however long he needs, hear whatever he has to get off his chest. There’s a glimmer of hope in him that says maybe Harry wants to be together again, but he quickly squashes it down, knowing he can’t expect that.

               Harry clears his throat. “Um… So how have you been?”

               “Shit,” Zayn answers bluntly.

               Harry laughs half-heartedly before replying, “Same.” He pauses for a moment, and Zayn looks over to him. Harry’s eyebrows are drawn together as he picks at the fabric of the seat’s arm rest. “Look Zayn, I wanted to talk to you to tell you that…I’m not mad at you. At least not anymore. I mean, I definitely was at first… because you were an arsehole. But now I’ve realized that some of what was happening was my fault too.” He looks up to Zayn hesitantly, his fingers halting their motions as he grips the arm rest tightly. “When I said goodbye before, it wasn’t because I wanted to. In fact that was the problem- that I didn’t want to leave, even after everything. So I had to…”  Harry huffs out a breath, frustrated at his words. “What I’m trying to say is that I had to step away from… whatever we were, for my own good. When we were together before, I knew you weren’t being nice… that you couldn’t return my feelings. I knew you weren’t giving me what I really wanted.

               “And I could tell _you_ knew that because you’d always look at me like you were… apologizing. I don’t know. With you it was either I could see everything or nothing at all; you’d become a stone wall sometimes. And you tried to tell me that. There were times when you’d start talking about it, but I’d cut you off. Because I didn’t want to know, Zayn. I wanted to keep up the façade. And I thought that maybe if I tried hard enough or went along with it long enough you suddenly change. Which was daft. Because people can’t do that. They can’t just change other people into what they want.

               “So that’s why I’m not angry with you anymore. Because it was my fault, too. I put you up on this pedestal, and I just _wanted_ you. I wanted you so badly. And when you said that back, I couldn’t fucking believe it…I couldn’t believe it. And every time I was with you it was fucking incredible, and it was like this high. And who would let that go? Who would willingly let that go out of their life? So I just took what you gave me, even though I wanted more. Even though I wanted what you weren’t offering.”

               Harry takes a deep breath and exhales exaggeratedly, giggling to himself in what Zayn suspects is an attempt to ease the tension that had made its way into the car while Harry was talking. Zayn rests his head back against the seat.

              “That’s the thing, Harry, that’s why it was so difficult. Because we wanted the same things, but something was always holding me back. I knew how much I liked you, but I couldn’t get past it.”

              Harry leans toward him, face contorted with hurt and confusion. “But why, Zayn? Why couldn’t you just get past it?”

               “It’s just… I find it really hard to… trust people. I…” Zayn turns his head to look out the window, distracting himself from what he knows he has to explain, has to talk about in order to make Harry understand. He takes in the dark night sky and the few other cars parked around the mostly empty lot, the yellow hue of the lights illuminating the bare trees. “I’m not actually, like, originally from Santa Cruz. I grew up a bit further north, in a… rougher city.” Zayn takes a deep breath through his nose, resting his head against the window and pushing himself to continue. “And it was hard. It was really fucking awful. I didn’t have any friends. Like, any. My mom and dad would always try to get me to do things, to join in with other kids, but I was too shy, too quiet, and I ended up just being embarrassed about it all.

                “I mean sometimes it was okay. I’ve always liked being by myself, and I don’t feel the need to talk all the time. But I was lonely.” He looks over to Harry, worried it just sounds like he’s giving some sob story, but as usual Harry’s looking at him with nothing but genuine interest and concern, his eyes focused on Zayn’s.

                Zayn looks down and feels a smile begin to spread across his face. “But then one day I was walking home from school, and this random kid comes up to me and starts talking about how awesome my Power Rangers backpack is. And he just followed me all the way home, talking on and on about how cool my backpack was and who his favorite Power Ranger was. And then the next day we walked home from school together again, and the next day the same thing. And eventually he started to sit with me at lunch, and we’d debate who the best superhero was, and for, like, the first time I wasn’t eating lunch alone. I had a best friend. And we were inseparable. For years.” Zayn’s face falls, and he forces his face back into its’ usual unreadable expression. “But then 9/11 happened. And his parents stopped letting him come over, stopped letting him talk or walk home with me.” Zayn tosses his hands in the air. “And I was just a kid! I didn’t really know what was going on. But I knew that I didn’t have a best friend anymore, and for the longest time I thought I had done something wrong, that it was my fault. I didn’t understand that his parents, that people, didn’t like me because I’m… me,” Zayn says, gesturing to himself. He feels a pull in his chest, but he swallows against the lump in his throat and blinks back the tears brimming in his eyes. “After that kids were mean to me. I mean before they’d ignore me, but after they would actively seek me out, and I started getting into trouble, a lot of trouble…” Zayn trails off. He knows he’s glossing over the rest of the story, the details that are etched into his memory and burn when he thinks about them, but it hurts too much to tell, to relive. He thinks Harry might understand him a little better though, so for now he thinks he’s said enough about that part of his life.

               Zayn shifts towards Harry, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. “Anyways, eventually my dad decided that we needed to move, so he opened up a restaurant with some of our family that lives in Santa Cruz. We moved, and now everything’s chill. I mean of course there’s always assholes no matter where you go, but it’s a lot better. A hell of a lot better. I’ve been doing really well there, actually. I mean my cousins who live there are two of my best friends, and I’ve been able to lose some of that shyness, y’know? So I’m not completely incapacitated by it anymore. I developed, like, social skills and stuff.” Zayn laughs at himself, and Harry smiles back at him, his eyes compassionate.

              “But then I came here, and I was taken away from that, like… safe haven I guess you could call it? Me not living there kind of made me feel stripped of everything I had gained there, too. So now I’m in this new country, with absolutely no one I know, and I guess I just reverted back. Reverted back to the kid who couldn’t trust anybody and needed to protect himself, fists and elbows up mentally and physically all the time. And it was so weird because like, so soon after I got here I met both you and Niall. And with Niall it was like, I liked him off the bat, but the whole getting close, becoming attached thing was gradual, and now we’re such good friends and it’s awesome. But with you everything was like… instant.”

              Zayn rubs the back of his neck with his hand, wondering if he should say out loud, what his brain’s been mulling over for a while now. “I don’t know, like, this probably sounds really weird, and I don’t want you to feel creeped out or anything, but like… I just kind of figured out at one point that you we’re going to be important in my life. I didn’t know how or anything, like in what way, but I just knew. Somehow. But I tried to shove that feeling down because who feels like that, right?” Zayn gives a weak laugh, scratching his neck and looking down at all the buttons on Harry’s dash as he begins to blush.

               “I do. I feel that way.”

               Zayn bites on his bottom lip and looks up to Harry. “Really?”

               “Yeah,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “I knew that from when you ran me over.” Zayn and Harry laugh at the memory before Harry shrugs his shoulders. “I guess that’s just the difference between you and me. I never tried to fight it. I fought for it.”

               Zayn nods somberly, leaning back against the seat. “I know. And I think that’s part of the reason I’ve been feeling so shit. I’ve been mourning. Not only for you and everything you gave me, but for the fact that you’re supposed to be in my life, and I messed it up. I threw it away. And you don’t really get second chances at that kind of stuff, I think.”

               Harry looks down at his fingers tapping against the arm rest. “I don’t know… I was thinking that maybe, like, this time there could be? A second chance I mean?”

               Zayn’s heart thuds in his chest, and his hands clench around his knees. “You mean that?”

               Harrys brushes his hand over one of Zayn’s that’s still gripping his leg. Harry takes it in his own, slotting their fingers together. “Yah. I mean, it has to be different this time, Zayn. A lot different. Because I won’t do that to myself anymore.”

               Zayn leans toward Harry eagerly, wrapping his other hand over the top of Harry’s. “Oh, I know. And it will be Harry. I don’t want to do that to you either. I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s all gonna be dandy. Like, I can’t just change and work on everything I need to overnight. I can’t promise that. I’m gonna mess up. A lot. But what I can promise is that I’ll try my best, okay? I’ll try my best every day to be better. For both of us.”

               Harry smiles at him, deep dimples indenting both cheeks, his left always a little deeper than his right. “Well that’s all I can really ask for isn’t it?” Zayn beams back at him, and when Harry kisses him it feels like the world around them is spinning, but they’re falling back into place.

               They spend hours more talking in the car, asking questions and exchanging stories until the windows fog up from their breath. Some questions Zayn says have to wait for later because they have to work up to the answers to them, and Harry understands, never pushing Zayn beyond what he freely wants to say.  Harry draws stick figure pictures of them on the driver side window, and Zayn laughs when he depicts them in some sort of disco scene. With great effort and little dexterity, Harry crawls across the middle and sits on Zayn’s lap, pressing his side to Zayn’s chest.

Zayn trails his thumb over Harry’s knee, tracing a small circle. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

               Harry thinks for a moment, lips pouting exaggeratedly, before replying, “Nope. Why?”

               “There’s somewhere I’ve been wanting to take you. A couple places really.”

               Harry quirks an eyebrow up, intrigued. “Where?”

               “Can’t tell you,” Zayn says smirking and hoping Harry will go along with it. “It’s my turn to surprise you.”

               Harry nods his head slowly. “Okay. What time should I be ready?”

               “Eleven sharp. I’ll meet you at yours.”

               “Okie dokie.”

               Harry nuzzles his head against Zayn’s, brushing his nose over Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn can feel his eyelashes flutter. Zayn wraps his arm tighter around Harry, putting one hand over his thigh to scoot him closer. Voice soft he says, “Thank you for letting me try again.”

               Harry kisses his cheek. “Feels right.” He shifts back in Zayn’s lap and with smirk on his face pokes a finger to Zayn’s chest adding, “Don’t fuck it up though.”

*****

               The next morning Zayn wakes up early, having made sure to set three alarms the night before just in case. He stumbles out of bed and groggily wades through his drawers of clothes, picking out a tshirt, sweatshirt and camo jacket to layer over each other with his usual ripped jeans. He walks to the bathroom, splashing cold water over his face to wake himself up. He looks down to watch and sees he has a few extra minutes, so he walks over to his stash of snacks and pulls out his enormous carton of Goldfish. He sits back on his bed, reclining against the wall, and tosses a few in his mouth, crunching away contently. As he shoves another handful in his mouth he realizes he’s quite nervous for today. He’s never actually been to any of the places he has planned for, and now there’s an itch in the back of his brain making him question if everything will go smoothly. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and checks all the pages and bus routes he’d looked up and bookmarked yesterday. He’s never actually used “the tube” yet, but he assures himself that it can’t be all that difficult if thousands of people use it every day.

               He chucks one last handful of Goldfish in his mouth before putting the box away and rubbing his hands together to get off the crumbs. Reaching to his desk, he grabs his rings and puts them on their corresponding fingers. He shoves a beanie over his head and double checks to make sure he has his key and wallet, giving himself one last look over before heading out the door to Harry’s.

 

                  When Harry open the door, he immediately hugs Zayn, exclaiming, “Good morning!” 

                  Zayn replies in kind, holding him tightly. “How are you-” Zayn glances to the side and realizes Harry’s roommate is still sleeping, so he lowers his voice to a whisper. “How are you?”

                  Harry laughs at him. “You don’t have to be quiet, Zayn. He’s the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever met. You could scream and he wouldn’t wake up.”

                  “Should’ve known with the way you snore,” Zayn replies casually, a smirk sneaking its way onto his lips at the end.

                  “Hey,” Harry draws out.

                  “It’s not human, Harry. You’re like a lawnmower…or a lumberjack using a rusty saw to cut a flimsy piece of wood.”

                  Harry turns to the side, plucking his, or rather Zayn’s, leather jacket from off his desk. “Well thank you for that vivid description, Mr. Malik.”

                  Zayn thinks he’s rather lucky to know what Harry snoring sounds like. He’d like to know what Harry looks like in the morning, after a long night of peaceful sleeping, too, or after a night of not sleeping at all.

                  “It’s okay, just one more thing about you that’s stupidly endearing.”

                  Harry’s eyes widen, a lopsided smile on his face. “You know that’s the first time you’ve ever proper complimented me.”

                  Zayn’s eyebrows pull together as he looks at Harry confused. “Really?” It seems impossible considering how his brain never shuts up with all the things he likes about Harry.

                  “Mmhmm,” Harry nods.

                  Harry closes the door behind them as they step outside and locks the door. When Zayn shivers at the cold, despite his many layers, Harry takes his hands between his own and rubs them quickly, blowing hot breath on them to try to get them to warm.

                  Zayn smiles at him and says, “Thanks.”

                  Harry throws an arm around Zayn’s shoulder, pulling him towards him and giving a cheeky smile. “So you think I’m endearing?”

                  Zayn laughs shortly. “Yes. Unfortunately. It’s awful being around someone so adorable.”

                  Harry’s eyes widen almost comically, and Zayn has to laugh at him. “Adorable?”

                  “Mmhmm.” Zayn’s not sure why, but he feels giddy at seeing Harry’s reactions.

                  “The most adorable?”

                  Zayn nods. “The most everything. The best everything.”

                  Harry’s cheeks have gone bright red, and Zayn suspects it’s not just from the cold. “You should give me compliments more often. I like them.”

                  Zayn laughs loudly, leaning his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Ugh, already. The ego on this one…”

 

                  When they’ve finally bought their tickets, Harry and Zayn wait for a few minutes until their train pulls into the station.

                  “You know we could’ve used my car if you wanted.”

                  “No,” Zayn insists shaking his head. “I’m still maintaining this as a surprise, and I can’t drive here. I’d end up on the wrong side of the damn road.”

                  He nods slowly to himself. “Oh, yah. Forgot about that…” Harry stands looking out at the tracks, humming under his breath for a while before leaning towards Zayn, dramatically singing, “And if a double decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.”

                  “The Smiths. Typical. Surprised you don’t smoke cigarettes while brooding over a cup of cheap, stale coffee.”

                  “Me? Surprised _you_ don’t. The whole cigarettes thing at least. You have that whole mysterious bad boy thing going on for you.” Harry winks at him. “On the outside at least.”

                  Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “Used to. Started when I was, like, thirteen ‘cause my cousin gave me one he stole from his dad’s pack. But eventually my mom caught me and got really upset about it, crying and all that, so I stopped. Wasn’t good for me anyway. I took up skating instead. Helps me clear my head.”

                  Harry nods thoughtfully, shuffling his feet before replying, “I was thinking that you could, uh, teach me sometime. To skate I mean. On your longboard.”

                  Zayn’s eyes light up as he tries to stifle his laughter. “Are you sure that’s a good idea Harry? You’re pretty accident prone.”

                  Harry’s scowls at him. “That’s not fair. You have to learn things that take dexterity in order to gain it, Zayn.”

                  Zayn raises one eyebrow skeptically. “Alright, but we’re gonna have to get all the proper safety equipment first.” Zayn reaches and grabs Harry’s arms wiggling them around. “Don’t want these gangly limbs of yours getting too bruised up from skating.”

                 Harry smiles widely, moving closer to Zayn and pressing their foreheads together. He nips at Zayn’s bottom lip and slips a finger into one of the front belt loops on his jeans. “Nope. Only from you.”

                 Zayn feels his stomach flutter, and he tightens his grip on Harry’s sides, digging his nails in. Harry steps away quickly with a smirk, giving Zayn a nonchalant kiss on the lips, but his eyes give him away.

 

                 Zayn stops walking to pull out his phone again for what seems to be the umpteenth time.

                 “Oh, fuck. I think we were supposed to turn right back there.”

                 “Zayn, you said that last time! And then we turned back because you said _that_ was wrong. Just let me look at the damn map!” Harry reaches out to grab the phone, but Zayn turns away, dodging him and holding it close to his chest.

                 “No! I already told you I can’t! It has to be a surprise!”

                 Harry puts both hands on his hips, annoyed. “Zayn,” he huffs, “We’ve been walking forever. It’s cold, and my feet hurt. Just let me see the map. It’ll be just as great, even without the surprise, I’m sure.”

                 Harry holds out his hand, giving Zayn a sympathetic, expectant look, but Zayn ignores it, throwing up his hands in distress.

                 “This is _not_ how this was supposed to go. I looked up the directions and everything. I triple checked… I had the whole day planned! It was supposed to be… it was supposed to show… Ugh, fuck!” He rubs his hands over his face and looks back to Harry. “I tried. I promise you I really did.”

                 Harry puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulders. “Zayn, of course you did. I know that. Is that what all this is about?”

                 Zayn rolls his eyes, completely fed up with himself. “I’m sorry. I was trying to show you that, like, I’m…putting in effort, y’know? That I care. But I fucked it up… again. I was trying to prove-”

                 Harry holds up his hand, signaling for Zayn to be quiet. “Zayn, you don’t need to prove anything to me. This isn’t some sort of retribution thing where you have to go mad paying me back from before. I know you care about me. You wouldn’t have told me everything last night if you didn’t.” Harry reaches around Zayn’s shoulders, pulling him in for a comforting hug. “So don’t worry about it, okay? You don’t have to prove yourself to me.” Zayn smiles and hugs him back, pressing his cold nose to Harry’s warm neck.

                 Mumbling into the warm skin he asks, “I make things a lot harder than they need to be, don’t I?”

                 Harry nods, his hair ruffling against Zayn’s. “Me, too, sometimes. But let’s try to not do that anymore, yah? This should be fun, so let’s just have fun.” Looking up at Harry, Zayn nods in agreement, a bright smile on his face that Harry leans down to kiss. “Brilliant. So where are we meant to be going, then?”

                Zayn sighs and hands Harry his phone, screen displaying the map route and destination. Harry’s face lights up when he scrolls to the bottom.

                “Tate Modern! We’re going to the Tate Modern! Oh,” Harry says, face going soft. “I told you I’ve been wanting to go there for ages months ago!”

                “I know,” Zayn replies. “And I’ve been wanting to take you ever since. If I could only find the fucking place…” 

                Harry looks back at the map, and his jaw drops. “I could kill you. You’re lucky you’re fit, very fit, or I probably would.”

                “What are you talking about, Harry?”

                “We’ve been walking around the bloody thing in giant circles for fucking hours, Zayn! Hours!”

                Zayn can’t help but laugh in disbelief. “No way.”

                “Yeah!” Harry’s face is exasperated, but by some miracle he’s laughing, too, incredulous. “This doesn’t prove a lack of effort or care Zayn. What this proves is a complete lack of sense of direction. I didn’t even know this was possible. I’ve got no idea how this happened.”

                “I do have to admit,” Zayn replies sheepishly, “that I’ve always had a shitty sense of direction. Geographically challenged if I’m honest.”

                Harry shakes his head, a tilted smile on his face. “You never cease to amaze me, Zayn Malik.”

 

                On the late train ride home, Zayn slides into a seat next to the window, and Harry sits down beside him. He rests his head on the window, body fatigued from the day and the, albeit his fault, unnecessary walking. He thinks back to Harry’s excitement upon finally arriving at the museum, his smile wide as he asked a woman walking by to take a picture of he and Zayn posing in front of it, and decides it was definitely worth it.

                Harry rests his hand on Zayn’s knee and leans in, kissing him on the cheek and mumbling quietly, “Thank you for taking me to museum. It was ace.”

                Zayn turns his head smiling and presses his lips to Harry’s. “It was. I’m glad you liked it.”

                Harry sweeps his hand over Zayn’s cheekbones and leans in for another kiss, threading his hands through Zayn’s hair and pulling him closer. Harry licks across Zayn’s bottom lip, and Zayn doesn’t miss it when he drags his hand up his thigh, the heat from his hand radiating throughout the rest of Zayn’s body and diminishing the tiredness he’d felt earlier.

                Zayn tugs on Harry’s lip with his teeth before letting it go and giving him a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. He pulls away and laughs lightly, quirking an eyebrow and motioning toward Harry’s wayward hand.

               “Eager are we?” Harry gives him a cross look. “We’re on the train, Harry.”

               Harry scoots back into his own seat with a huff. “Well, excuse me. Haven’t been fucked in three weeks…” He looks at Zayn accusatorily. “Besides, you’re the one who made me walk around needlessly for _hours_ today. I deserve it. My legs and feet hurt.”

               Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re such brat.” Harry narrows his eyes and pouts, and he always looks ridiculous when he does, so Zayn laughs quietly to himself. He reaches down, grabbing Harry’s legs and swinging them on to his lap. Zayn runs his hands along Harry’s legs and massages them, starting from the top of his thighs and working his way down to his calves. “Feel better, babe?”

               Harry’s got his arms crossed over his chest defiantly, but his eyes are closed, head tilted back. He gives a noncommittal and purposefully undecided grunt.

               Zayn pulls Harry’s legs, bringing Harry closer to his lap. He leans over, mouth close to Harry’s ear and asks gently, “Come back with me, and I’ll take care of you, yah?”

               A smirk crosses Harry’s face, and he nods, eyes still closed. Zayn smiles in response, leaning back against his seat and resting his hands on Harry’s knees. Zayn keeps his eyes on him, taking in his beautiful, relaxed face and long body.

              Without opening his eyes, Harry reaches out and lightly slaps Zayn’s hands. “Hey, no breaks. Keep going, Malik.”

              Zayn gives a short scoff and resumes his earlier motions. When he looks over Zayn sees Harry still leaning back with his eyes closed, a smug smile on his face.

 

               By the time they get to Zayn’s door, Harry’s pressing himself against Zayn’s back, and Zayn can feel how hard he already is through his jeans.

               “Would you open the fucking door already?”

               Zayn scrambles with his key, trying to fit it in the lock. “Well if you weren’t being so distracting I might be able to…”

               Zayn unlocks the door, and as soon as he gets inside he turns back to face Harry, who takes Zayn’s face between his hands and kisses him harshly, their teeth clashing together. Harry steps back and slips off his own jacket hurriedly before removing Zayn’s. He gets Zayn’s sweatshirt off and frowns when he sees the t-shirt underneath.

               “So many fucking layers,” he grumbles before taking Zayn’s shirt off and tossing it somewhere to the side. He turns back to Zayn, running his hands hastily up and down his bare skin. “Thank God, thought I was going to find another one.”

               Zayn smiles, laughing lightly as he presses his lips to Harry’s. Harry opens his mouth, and Zayn brushes his tongue against Harry’s, licking against the roof of his mouth. Harry groans, and Zayn steps back to rid him of his shirt and take off his own shoes. Harry does the same, and Zayn briefly wonders how many holes there have to be in his boots before Harry throws them away, hoping Harry keeps him just as long.

               Harry brings them back together, kissing and biting Zayn’s lips until they’re tingling and swollen. Zayn drags and runs his hands over Harry’s body, getting reacquainted with every part of him he’d been missing and aching for during their time apart. Zayn runs his hands down past his hips and grabs Harry’s ass, squeezing and pulling him closer. Harry rolls his hips against him, and Zayn growls lowly biting at Harry’s neck.

               Harry puts an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, bringing them closer still, and Zayn walks forward, falling onto the bed with Harry underneath him. Zayn hastily undoes Harry’s belt and jeans, dragging off his boxers, and Harry reaches down to do the same for Zayn. They get tangled in their limbs together, giggling breathlessly as they try to get everything undone and off. When Harry finally gets his last sock off, Zayn lowers himself back over Harry, pressing open-mouthed kisses and sharp bites to his neck and jaw. He drops his head, licking over Harry nipples, and Harry moans, carding his fingers through Zayn’s hair and pressing Zayn’s mouth closer to his body. Zayn licks and sucks on each one, scraping his teeth against them and pulling to make Harry whine. He teasingly runs his tongue over Harry’s other two nipples and looks up to find Harry’s smile and breathy laughter echoing his own.

               He sucks, licks and bites his way down and across Harry torso, hungry to taste every part of him again. He drags his tongue along the crease where Harry’s thigh and hip meet, and Harry shifts underneath him, legs opening wider. Zayn grips his hips tightly, holding them to the bed, and Harry grunts, rolling his hips up toward Zayn futilely. Zayn raises his head to suck at Harry’s tip, tonguing over it lazily and looking up to watch Harry’s face as his chest rises and falls from deep breaths. Zayn squeezes the base of Harry’s cock, stroking him lazily and he lowers his mouth over him, going deeper with every push down.

               Harry brushes Zayn’s hair from his face, his usually perfectly coiffed quiff now wilted.  “Fuck, you look incredible.”  Zayn thinks he can’t possibly looks as good as Harry does when he’s in the same position. “Feels incredible…” Harry mumbles, sounding dazed.

               Zayn brings his other hand down from Harry’s hip and squeezes firmly around Harry’s balls, and Harry’s hips buck up into Zayn’s hand and mouth. Zayn quickly pulls off of him, pushing his hips back down against the mattress.

Zayn raises his head and gives Harry a warning look. “Stay still.”

Harry nods at him, bringing his arms to his sides and digging the palms of his hands into the sheets. Zayn crawls over him, reaching past Harry to get a condom and the bottle of lube he keeps in his nightstand. When he leans back he notices Harry watching him, dragging his eyes up and down Zayn’s body as he tightens his grip on the sheets beneath him.

               Zayn thinks back to Harry’s comment earlier about complimenting him, so Zayn smiles and leans down, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Good boy.”

               Harry’s cheeks flush, and he smiles at Zayn, licking his lips. Zayn crawls back down Harry’s body, opening up the bottle and slicking up his fingers before dropping it beside him. He lays down on the bed between Harry’s legs, propping himself up on his elbows and stroking Harry firmly. He lowers his head to run his tongue along Harry’s balls, sucking on them, and Zayn can see the muscles in Harry’s legs tighten and shiver on either side of him. Zayn let’s go of Harry and moves his knee to side, opening up his legs wider. He can’t help it when he licks a long line up the inside of Harry’s pale thigh, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He slips one finger into Harry barely before pulling it out and running his thumb around the tight ring of muscle. Zayn lowers his mouth back over Harry and sinks one finger into him, and Zayn can hear him give a sharp hiss followed by heavy sigh. Zayn works his finger in and out of Harry as he moves his head up and down at the same pace.  When he slides a second finger in, Harry gives a long moan from his chest, rough and deep.

               Zayn lifts one of Harry’s legs over his shoulder, the crook of his knee resting on him, and by the time Zayn has three fingers inside of him, Harry’s letting out high-pitched whine and sighs every time Zayn pushes back into him.

               “Zayn,” Harry says between breathes, “You have to stop. I’m gonna come. You have to…”

               Zayn pulls off of him, licking his lips, and slides out his fingers, watching Harry’s face scrunch up as he groans. He runs his hand up the planes of Harry’s hips and stomach and traces the pads of his fingers along Harry’s knuckles, still clenching the sheet.

               “It’s alright. You can move now, love.”

               Harry lets out a heavy breath and grabs Zayn’s face, kissing him desperately and reaching down for his waist to bring their bodies closer. Zayn licks into Harry’s mouth until the kiss becomes a frenzied mix of lips and tongue, and Zayn’s so frantically hungry for it he can barely pause to breathe. He bites on Harry’s lip, pulling hard before letting it go, slick and vividly red. Zayn scrapes his teeth along Harry’s cheeks, biting at the curve of his jaw roughly and sucking on his earlobe. He kisses him one more time in the crook of his neck before leaning away quickly and reaching behind him for the condom, but when he grabs it, Harry pushes his hand away.

               “I don’t want it.”

               “Are you sure?”

               “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

               “Yah, ‘course.” Zayn rubs his thumb along the line of Harry’s hip. “You sure?”

               “Yeah,” Harry replies, looking directly into Zayn’s eyes, licking his lips. “Wanna feel you come inside me.”

               Zayn closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Harry’s knee, laughing at himself weakly as he tightens grip on his hip. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

               He glances up, and Harry gives him a lazy smirk, mouth still open. Zayn echoes the look before wrapping a hand around himself and lining himself up. He leans forward, barely pushing into Harry before he decides on another idea. He grabs Harry thigh roughly, pushing it to the side a little.

               “Turn over.” Zayn tilts his head to the right, giving Harry direction. “Hand and knees.”

               Harry gets up quickly, moving hastily to settle himself in the way Zayn’s asked. Zayn runs his hands over the long expanse of Harry’s back before resting a hand on his hip and sinking himself into Harry slowly.

               He kisses along Harry’s lower back, softly smoothing his fingers over his soft hips and waist. Zayn lowers his chest against Harry’s back,bringing their bodies flush together. He nudges his nose along Harry’s spine, placing a kiss at the top. Harry leans forward, dragging Zayn out of him, before pressing back. He repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself back onto Zayn until Zayn feels dizzy with the sensation of Harry moving around him. 

               Harry tightens around Zayn and bolt of electricity runs through Zayn, sending shivers over his body. He grabs Harry’s hips and snaps his own forward. Harry cries out loudly and drops to his elbows.

               “Again,” Harry says between heavy breaths. “Harder.”

               Zayn lifts one of his legs to plant his foot on the bed, knee next to Harry’s hip, and slams his hips forward again. Harry moans and nods languidly, whimpering quietly. Zayn pulls out and does it again and again until Harry’s mumbling nonsense, and the only words he can pick out are “Yes” and “Zayn”. Zayn bows his head, resting it against Harry’s back, feeling delirious from it all.

               Harry drops further onto the bed, head pressed to the sheets as he grinds back into Zayn. Zayn shifts Harry’s hips so he’s pressed fully to the bed and he’s on top of him. Zayn reaches forward to take Harry’s hand in his, and Harry grips around his fingers tightly. Zayn kisses behind Harry’s ear and licks along the shell of his ear, rolling his hips against Harry’s and pushing him into the bed as Harry lets out a high whine.

               “You feel so good, baby,” Zayn pants into Harry’s ear. “So good.”

               Harry brings his free hand to Zayn’s neck, gripping his hair tightly as he tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips to Zayn’s ear. “Come on, Zayn. Come for me. Wanna feel you…”

               Zayn lets out a stuttering breath and bites down on the curve of Harry’s neck and shoulder, pushing his hips deep into Harry as waves of heat roll through him. He thrusts forward a few more times and then spills into Harry, groaning and sighing loudly as goose-bumps travel across his skin. Through the fog in his mind, he hears Harry come a few moments later, a rough moan falling from his mouth as he holds Zayn’s hand tightly and digs his fingers into the back of his neck.

               Zayn pulls out and falls to the bed beside Harry, body completely spent, but feeling languid and warm. They lay still, until their breathing evens out, and Zayn finds himself muttering, “Holy shit…Holy. Shit.”

               Harry laughs drowsily beside him and turns to drape his arm across Zayn’s chest mumbling, “I know.” He rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, looking up at him. “I knew there was a reason I gave you a second chance…”

               Zayn shoves his arm, giggling, “Shut up. You absolute doofus.”

               Harry scoffs playfully. “And here you were doing so well with the compliments thing.”

               Zayn shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

               Harry rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his face, and Zayn leans forward to kiss his still-flushed cheeks. Harry sighs quietly and closes his eyes, resting his head on Zayn’s chest.

               “Oh no,” Zayn says patting his cheek lightly, “can’t go to sleep yet, babe. Gotta take a shower first.” Harry grumbles, tightening his grip around Zayn. “We have to. You’ll regret it in the morning.” Harry looks up at him with wide eyes and bats his eyes, and Zayn is truly tempted to give up the whole thing and pass out. He knows they’ll both be worse for wear tomorrow morning though, so he says, “Come on,” and gets out of bed, dragging a heavy Harry with him.

               In the shower Zayn washes Harry slowly, gently rubbing over the already forming bruises and marks from his mouth to relax his muscles. He shampoos Harry’s hair, haphazardly forming it into a swirl at the top of his head, so he looks like a melting ice cream cone. Zayn wants to tell him everything he’s feeling right now, all the overwhelming emotions of adoration and reassurance, but he doesn’t know how to word it. Instead he wraps his arms around Harry, both of them falling into a sleepy, heavy hug.

               When they’re both rinsed off and dry, Zayn leads them back to the bed, lying together face to face. Harry looks to him, and Zayn can see a flash of panic and worry in his eyes. Zayn holds the side of Harry’s face with is hand, thumb softly stroking over his cheek.

               “I’ll be here. I promise.”

               Harry nods, giving him a fragile smile, before curling into Zayn and nodding off.

*****

               The next morning Zayn wakes up to a snoring Harry, the raucous noise cutting through the silence like the early morning sunshine through his blinds. Zayn takes in every detail of him: his pink mouth slightly agape, the dark lashes splayed against his smooth skin, the way the light hits the bridge of his nose and the curls in his disheveled hair. Last night Zayn had thought he’d felt everything, but this moment tops it. All the books he’d read and all the poetry Harry had recited to him suddenly fall into place and come to life in the slope of Harry’s chin and curve of his neck.

               Harry’s eyelids flicker as he takes in a deep yawn and slowly opens his eyes. He frowns groggily, still tired, before turning his face toward Zayn. Zayn smiles at him, and the grin Harry gives him upon seeing his face makes Zayn feel like his heart is expanding beyond what it can handle, and it’s truly going to burst at any moment.

               Zayn cups Harry’s cheek with his hand, giving him a soft, sleepy kiss. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

               Harry responds with a dopey smile, dimples indenting his cheeks. “Good morning, love.”

               And that’s all they say for a while, kissing lazily and running their hands over each other with no real purpose or intent other than to feel one another and start the day off in bliss.

               Harry scoots closer to Zayn and lets out a small grunt, dropping his head to rest on Zayn’s chest. “I’m so sore.”

               Zayn looks down at him worriedly. “Are you okay?”

               Harry laughs, looking up at him. “The best ever.” Harry reaches up to press his lips to Zayn. “Don’t worry, it’s only in the good way.”

               Zayn smiles down at him, giving Harry another kiss before leaning his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes and dreaming of waking up like this every day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra thank you to my best friend Bri for helping to inspire some of the occurrences in this chapter. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as he’s about to drift off, he feels Harry poke him in the chest.  
> “Zayn? Are you awake?”  
> Zayn doesn’t move.  
> “Are you pretending to be asleep?”  
> “Maybe,” Zayn grumbles, keeping his eyes closed.  
> “I can’t get to sleep. I’m too excited.”  
> Harry’s known to get random bouts of random energy; Zayn’s waken up multiple times in the middle of the night to a note stuck to the pillow beside him saying, “Went for a walk!” or to Harry crouched over his notebook on the floor, scribbling. Despite his exhaustion, however, Zayn feels a smile tug at his lips at the thought of this excitement being not so random.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this update has taken so long. Life has been ridiculously crazy... to say the least. I made this one longer to hopefully make up for it. From now on, I'll be back to the regular schedule. Thanks for being so patient!

                Harry quickly shuts off the car, pulling his keys out of the ignition and undoing his seat belt. He steps out, but leans back in before he shuts the door to pat Zayn’s knee. All his movements are jumpy, a stark contrast to the usually languid Harry who speaks with a sometimes agonizingly slow cadence.

               “C’mon! Let’s go!”

               Zayn gives him a wary look. “Why are you being so weird? We’re just going to Louis’.”

               “I’m not being weird,” Harry says defensively. “I’m just excited for all of us to be hanging out together. School’s been busy. It’s been a while.”

               Zayn studies Harry for a few moments, and Harry stands up straighter giving him an innocent smile. “Are you sure? Nothing’s wrong? You’re okay?”

Harry sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Zayn, I’m fine. Now let’s go!”

“Okay,” Zayn replies, raising his hands in surrender as he gives in and gets out of the car. Harry walks around to Zayn’s side and holds his hand as they walk up to Louis’ door. “You’re squeezing my hand really hard, Harry.”

               “Oh! Sorry.” Harry gives him a sheepish smile before loosening his grip. “Just excited.”

               Zayn gives him a confused look before shaking his head. “You’re so weird.”

               Harry just shrugs and opens the unlocked door to Louis’ small flat, leading Zayn inside and to the kitchen. When they pass through the door way, Zayn nearly jumps in the air when Niall, Louis, and Liam fly out from behind the living room’s beat up old couch.

               “Happy Thanksgiving!”

               Zayn takes a moment to gather himself and looks about the room, seeing Niall and Liam wearing aprons and pieces of paper taped against the wall that read in sloppy, capital block letters, “Happy Thanksgiving!” as well. Zayn feels a smile break out across his face and Niall runs forward with a maniacal laugh, tackling him with a hug. Louis, Liam, and Harry join, and Zayn topples to the floor under the weight of them all.

               “Are you surprised, Zaynie?” Niall asks, face beaming.

               Zayn gives a strangled, “Yeah,” and all the boys laugh, getting up from the floor and helping Zayn to his feet. When Zayn gets up he walks over into the kitchen and takes a better look at everything around him. He’s impressed when he sees that Louis’ really pulled out all the stops, actual dishes and silverware on the table instead on the plastic utensils and paper plates they usually opt for. On the walls, besides the taped up letters, are crayon-colored, hand drawn turkeys.

               “Used all my art skills for those ones, mate,” Niall says, giving Zayn a wink.

               “They’re incredible. Truly brilliant, Niall.”

               “That’s what I said,” Louis adds. “He’s always putting himself down, but the boys got some real talent.”

               Zayn laughs, swinging his arm around Niall’s shoulder and ruffling his hair. “It smells really good in here as well,” Zayn states in disbelief. “Did you guys actually cook something?”

               Louis throws his head back and gives a loud groan. “Oh my god, Zayn. Do you know how long it takes to cook a bloody turkey? Hours. Hours! I’ve been slaving away. Had to get up at fucking six this morning to get it going…”

               “ _You_ had to?” Liam asks incredulously. “ _I_ did it! _I_ had to get up at six this morning!”

               “Well, I made the green beans!”

               Liam crosses his arms. “They were canned, Lou-”

               “The point, _Liam,_ isthat we all worked very hard today. Except for Harry, as usual, who has gotten away with doing absolutely nothing.”

               “Hey,” Harry interjects, “I got him here! Which I assure you is no easy task. Zayn could spend _days_ getting ready.”

               Zayn scoffs at him, offended. “I’m right here, Harry.”

               Harry continues on, speaking over him. “Can’t blame the lad though. He’s _well_ fit.”

               All the boys nod their heads in agreement, and Zayn reaches over to punch each of them in the shoulder, grinning at how ridiculous they all are.

               “Well, enough banter,” Louis states. “It’s time for dinner!”

               Everyone gives a loud yell, and they all run to the kitchen to start piling food on their plates, Louis’ little table too small to set all the dishes out.

               Zayn puts scoops of potatoes and green beans on his plate, but Louis notices that Zayn is hesitant to take a slice of turkey. He leans into him, assuring, “Don’t worry, we got it from a special shop. To make sure it’s halal.”

               Zayn returns the smile Louis’ giving him, and relief washes over him. “Thanks.”

                As Harry’s scooping a dollop of mashed potatoes onto his plate Zayn asks, “So is this why you were asking all though questions before? About Thanksgiving and what my family does and stuff?” Harry nods, smiling as he pours gravy over his plate. “Very sly, Styles. And here I was thinking it was just another addition to your odd ardor for American culture.”

                Harry shrugs his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to miss anything just ‘cause you’re not at home. Just want you to be happy.”

                Zayn gets that familiar feeling where he feels as if his heart’s going to burst from affection. “I’m feeling very at home right now.” He kisses Harry on the cheek, and Harry beams at him, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. It’s a habit Harry didn’t used to have, and Zayn likes to think it’s a part of him that Harry’s picked up.

                When they all sit down at the table, Niall and Liam immediately start digging in, but Harry clears his throat loudly, giving them both pointed looks. Louis pinches them both on the arm, and they each let out small yelps.

                “First,” Harry starts, “we all have to say what we’re thankful for that’s happened this year.”

                Zayn thinks back to all the times when he was younger and his own mother had told him to stop eating so they could give thanks first, going around the table one by one and taking turns. His mother always made sure he and his sisters were aware of how lucky they were; they never necessarily had much extra, but Zayn knows his parents sacrificed a lot when they moved to Santa Cruz in order for their family to do better.

                “I’ll go first!” Liam offers, putting down his knife and fork. “This year, I am very thankful that all my extra work paid off, and I passed all my classes so far- thank God. Umm… I’m also very happy that my sister got the job she wanted because she really needed it and definitely deserves it…I’m also very happy that I’ve got great mates, including my new one, Zayn, because he’s cool. Even though he likes Green Lantern more than Batman, that’s okay; I’ve decided to forgive him.”

               They all laugh lightly, and Zayn smiles at him.

               “Alright, then,” Louis says. “Suppose it’s my turn. I’m very thankful that my family’s doing well. Everyone’s healthy, all my sisters are doing well in school. And there’s no boys in any of their lives, so I’m content. I’m also very glad that I’ve got such great mates.” He points a finger to across the table. “Glad to have met Zayn, here, as well this year. It’s a good thing he didn’t turn out to be the knob I thought he was.” He chuckles to himself before smiling down at the table shyly. “I’m also happy I’ve got Niall.” Niall looks at him smiling widely with rosy cheeks before giving him an exaggerated funny face, and everyone laughs. “Partly because he’s a cool lad, but mostly because he’s got a great mouth.”

               Niall cackles loudly and Liam gives a yell of protest. “Not at the table!”

               “Well, that’s quite something to follow up,” Harry starts, clearing his throat, “but I’ll do my best. I’d first like to say I’m grateful that my family’s doing alright, as well. Mum’s getting married and that’s pretty cool- to see her so happy again. And Gemma’s getting good marks- that she insists on rubbing in my face. Um… I’m thankful for my best mates, for helping me organize our very own Thanksgiving dinner for Zayn.” Harry leans to the side and gently pushes Zayn with his shoulder teasingly. “And I’m glad that after hours of pushing his hair around, Zayn finally decided to join us for it.” Zayn opens his mouth to comment, but Harry quickly speaks over him, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “I’m thankful I’ve got so many people in my life who make me so happy. That’s what’s most important. Oh! Also, I’m very glad that Mary’s Market around the corner from us has decided to make their cupcakes and fruit tarts half off this month because now I can eat twice as many of them! Yay!”

               Harry looks to Zayn with a satisfied grin, telling him to start, but then exclaims, “Oh!” again and puts his hands up as if he’s just remembered something. “Zayn also has a nice mouth.”

               He grins at Zayn, and Zayn smiles back, his eyes crinkling as he gives Harry a kiss on the cheek. Louis rolls his eyes and makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Disgusting,” but he doesn’t complain when Niall gives him a kiss on the cheek of his own.

               “My turn, then,” Zayn says. Normally he’d be nervous sharing his feelings with a group of people other than his family, let alone people he’s known for five months, but sitting at the table now, Zayn realizes he’s anything but. He feels warm and comfortable amongst the four boys who have quickly become some of his best friends, so when he begins talking, the words come out easily.

               “This year I’d like to say that I’m thankful for being able to travel somewhere new and experience different things. I can’t say how awesome it’s been to have my art hung up for people to look at.” Zayn looks down at his hands folded in his lap, remembering how nervous he’d been, and laughs lightly at himself. “That was really cool. One of the coolest things ever. But more importantly, I know I wouldn’t have been able to do all these cool things without all my friends and family. So this year I’m most grateful for my family who pushed me to move to another country in the first place, for them constantly assuring me and helping me with the transition, and also for all my new friends. I honestly don’t know how I got this lucky with meeting such rad people right off the bat, but I definitely know I wouldn’t have made it through my first few months without them. Especially Niall.”

               From two seats down, Niall winks, giving Zayn a conspiratorial smirk. Zayn reaches underneath the table to take Harry’s hand in his. “And last, but most certainly not least, I’m extremely thankful for my boyfriend,” Harry squeezes his hand, “who despite everything puts up with and helps me with all my bullshit and arranges awesome dinners for me.” Zayn can feel a blush creep into his cheeks when he adds, “He’s one of the loveliest people I know.”

               Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist, giving him a tight hug, and when he looks back up Harry’s smiling at Zayn dopily, the light in his eyes dancing.

               “Oh god,” Louis interrupts, “you’ve gone and made him cry. Harry, you are an absolute sop.”

               Harry spins around to face him, hand on his hip. “I am not!”

               Louis tries to keep his tone cutting, but Zayn can see the fondness in his eyes and in the way he tilts his head. “Sorry, mate, but you are.”

               “Says the person who realized we’d missed Zayn’s Thanksgiving in the first place.”

               Zayn looks across the table confusedly. “What? Louis, this was your idea?”

               “Okay, whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves alright? I was watching an American show on the telly, and they were having Thanksgiving, and I thought ‘Hey, maybe Zayn is like, missing Thanksgiving or something. Since it’s a family day you know. It was merely a passing thought.”

               Harry rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. “Louis’ lying. He came and asked me to gather information so we could do it right, like how your family does it. With traditions of our own to add in, of course. He organized the whole thing, but he didn’t want me to tell you. The operation even had a code name.”

               Zayn’s mouth quirks up to the side. “Oh really? What was it?”

               “Opera-”

               “Hey!” Liam interjects. “Only agents of the mission can know the code name. That’s why it’s a secret.”

               “Thank you, Liam,” Louis adds, putting his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “At least I know I’ve got one loyal friend.” Niall looks at him offended. “Sorry, love, ‘course I mean you, too.”

               “Well, nevertheless,” Zayn interjects, “thank you all for thinking of me and putting in all this effort. It really means a lot.” A relaxed silence falls over the table, and Harry leans back towards Zayn, holding his hand in both of his own and pressing their lips together.

               “Alright, alright, enough with you two lovebirds,” Niall interrupts. “You’ve all rightfully saved the best for last. First off, I’m right chuffed that Derby won last week. Couldn’t have asked for a better game. Absolutely incredible winning goal.” Niall pumps his fist in the air and gives a reverent look.

               “I’m also very happy to have Louis, here- also mostly because of his mouth.” Louis winks at him, and he giggles to himself before continuing, “But I’m also very thankful to have all of you here. You all are my best mates, and I love you all loads.” He gets up and blows kisses to everyone at the table, reaching to Louis and Zayn beside him to join in on a group hug.

               “I’d love to hug you all forever,” Niall says through his laughter, “but I really cannot wait any longer to eat.”

               Everyone heartily agrees and immediately digs into their food. There’s no sounds for a while other than forks and knives moving against plates, and Niall telling Zayn he got the recipe for the mashed potatoes from one of Jaimie Oliver’s cookbooks- “Legend!”

               When everyone’s cleared their second (or third) plateful, Niall, Louis, and Liam waddle over to the couch and TV area, falling into a heap beside each other and turning on a soccer game. Zayn decides he should be the one to clean up, and Harry decides to stay behind to help him.

               As Zayn’s about to put away the cranberry sauce, Harry stops him, taking out two boxes of medium sized zip-lock bags and loaves of sliced bread. He points to the bowl of sauce and turkey.

               “To make sandwiches to give away. Like your family always does, right?”

               Zayn nods, remembering the assembly line his family makes after every Thanksgiving, stacking slices of turkey and spreading cranberry sauces between slices of bread before packing them into individual baggies. They’d spend the next day driving around town or dropping by a shelter to donate them, his mom always emphasizing the appreciative and charitable spirit of the holiday.

               “I thought it was one of the traditions we should keep.” Zayn gives him a kiss on the cheek and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, simply nodding his head again in agreement, words stuck in his throat as he’s overcome with fondness for everyone around him and amazement at how much effort they put in to make him feel at home.

               “Oi!” Niall shouts from the couch, head popping up from over the cushions. “Speaking of traditions, we’ve forgotten dessert!”

               Louis and Liam groan from around him, reflexively grabbing their stomachs.

               “Niall,” Louis mumbles while rolling over so his face is pressed into the couch, “we just finished eating. Jesus, give us some time to digest.”

               Niall scoffs at him. “Are you kidding? I’m ready for round two!” Niall smacks Louis’ butt, and Louis tries to kick him, flexing his leg back, but he misses terribly. “I think I was right, Lou. You’ve just not got enough stamina for this lad. Too old.”

               Louis’ head darts up to look at him, mouth dropping open in offense. He throws his fist out, and this time it lands square on the middle of Niall’s stomach. Niall staggers backward, cursing to himself as the back of his legs hit the small table and he tumbles down. Louis smirks at him, apparently satisfied.

               Niall groans from the floor dramatically. “I’m injured! Pick me up, Tommo! Carry me to the kitchen!”

               Louis rolls his eyes, but helps Niall to his feet anyways and gives him a piggyback all the ten feet to the kitchen. Niall beams, hands perched on Louis’ shoulders.

               Zayn and Harry pause from carving the rest of the turkey and turn toward the rest of the boys as Niall jumps down from Louis’ back, clasping his hands together like he has an announcement to make.

               “Now lads,” he begins, “a lot of traditions have been kept tonight, which is fine and all that. But now it is time for a new tradition. One that I have come up with completely on me own and is absolutely brilliant.”

               “The modesty…” Harry mumbles, and Niall flicks his foot out to kick him, but Harry dodges it, nearly falling in the process. Zayn shakes his head fondly considering not for the first time that he’s surrounded by idiots.

               Niall moves to pick up a plate tucked into the back corner of the counter wrapped in aluminum foil. He unfolds the edges first before ripping back the foil gallantly, yelling, “Tada!” On the plate sits a large, round chocolate cake, with white frosting. The rest of the boys look at each other, confused and unsure in how to react. “It’s a Guinness cake!”

               Zayn’s the first to laugh, incredulous. “How the fuck do you make a cake from beer?”

               “Oh it’s easy, the same you bake any other cake. The hardest part is not drinking your ingredients! Had to get an extra six pack, just in case.”

               “Just in case,” Zayn says sarcastically, thinking Niall’s just about one of the greatest people he’s met in his entire life.

               Liam pats Niall on the back and ruffles his hair. “Well, let’s see if it’s any good!”

               They all dig in, and Harry compliments Niall on the even layer of icing he’s achieved and how moist the cake is. Niall thanks him in return, explaining that he had been a bit worried about it, since the turkey had to be cooking at the same time. Zayn gets an image of Niall fluttering around in his apron, constantly checking on his ingenious concoction, and smiles to himself.

               When they’ve finished dessert, they all vote to keep the tradition of Niall’s Guinness cake, and Niall grins triumphantly, cheeks ruddy from happiness. Zayn and Harry go back to making the sandwiches, and when they’ve zipped the last bag close, they pile them all into Louis’ fridge, deciding they’ll stop by tomorrow for them, since neither of them have a refrigerator big enough in their dorms.

               Zayn gives them all a long hug, thanking them all for the spectacular dinner, and heads back out to the car with Harry.

               Harry walks Zayn back to his dorm as he always does and gives him a kiss goodnight, explaining that he still has a test to study for. Zayn wishes him good luck, and right as Harry begins to walk away he turns back, reaching into his pocket. Zayn had noticed he’d been fiddling with it all night, but hadn’t thought much of it. From inside it, Harry pulls out a folded up piece of paper.

               He pushes it into Zayn’s hand and stammers, “It’s uh…This is for you. Ummm, yah. I’ll talk to you later.” He gives Zayn another quick kiss, and when he pulls back Zayn can see he’s blushing, cheeks a bright red visible even in the dark.

               Harry dips his head awkwardly before scurrying away, with Zayn calling after him, “Alright, take it easy!”

               Zayn moves back inside him room and shuts the door, mumbling about how strange Harry is.

               He changes into sweats and hoodie, pulling it up over his head to keep his ears warm. He flounces onto his bed and pulls back out the piece of paper. On the top scrawled in Harry’s slanted penmanship is “ _Zayn”._ He unfolds it, and as his eyes drag across the lines written down his smile grows.

 _You make me feel alive-_  
 _A live wire,_  
 _Like there’s champagne_  
 _In my veins._  
 _Or maybe a sweet pop_  
 _That fizzles when we talk,_  
 _And reminds me of summer days_  
 _Lost in a childhood haze_.

                Zayn can’t stop smiling, even when the muscles in his cheeks start to hurt, so he takes the pillow next to him and shoves it over his face, unsure of how to deal with all the happiness he’s feeling. He wants to call Harry, to tell him how much he loves it, but he remembers that Harry’s supposed to be studying. He thinks of Harry nervous though, pacing around his room, wondering what Zayn thinks about his poem, and he can’t stand the idea of Harry doubting himself, so he grabs his phone, dialing the first person in his favorites.

                “Hiya,” Harry says when he answers, and Zayn can feel the tension in his voice, like he’s holding his breath.

                “Hey! I really love your poem, Harry.”

                “Yeah?”

                “Mhmm,” Zayn replies. “It’s beautiful. I’m glad you shared it with me.”

                Zayn can hear Harry breathe out a sigh of relief. “I’m happy you like it. I was worried you’d…I don’t I just thought you might think it was too…much.”

                “No way, of course not. I loved it, love y-”. The next word nearly falls from Zayn’s mouth, but he automatically cuts himself off, shocked. He shakes his head at himself, but Harry says nothing to indicate that he noticed.    

                “Umm, yah, I’m just… I’m just glad you trust me enough to share your writing with me. It’s really cool. You should show me some of your other stuff sometime. Only if you want to of course.”

                Harry gives a positive hum. “Yeah. That’d be… that’d be really cool.” Harry giggles, and Zayn smiles into the phone, heart feeling light.

                “Alright well… you’ve got some studying to get back to.” Harry gives a dissatisfied grumble, and Zayn can tell he’s pouting on the other end of the phone.

                “I’d rather talk to you.”

                “I’d rather talk to you, too.” Zayn’s extremely tempted to say “fuck it” and talk to Harry for hours like they always do, but he knows Harry actually really needs to get a good grade on this test, so instead he continues, “But I can’t.”

               Harry gives a defeated huff. “Fine, but it’s really not fair. They shouldn’t give you massive exams and allow fit boys into Uni at the same time. It’s rubbish.”

               Zayn smiles. “But then you wouldn’t be in Uni either.”

               Harry laughs, and Zayn can see him smirking, dimple indenting his right cheek deeply. Zayn can hear the faint squeak of Harry’s desk chair and imagines he’s leaning back in it. “You’re just making it worse. You should let me come over; I wanna sleep at yours tonight.”

               Zayn knows what Harry’s planning in his head, and it has nothing to do with sleeping. Regretfully he says, “No. And if you try to come over anyway,” which Harry has been known to do, “Ill kick you out.”

               “Such cruelty,” Harry laments into the phone.

               “You’ll thank me when you get your grade back.”

               “Yeah, yeah,” Harry mutters. “You’re missing out.”

               “Don’t I know it.” Zayn laughs lightly and fiddles with piece of paper still in his hand. “I really did enjoy the poem, Harry. Like, a lot. I can’t tell you that enough.” The words he stopped himself from saying before are screaming in his ears, but he bites his tongue.

               “That makes me so happy, honestly. Have a goodnight, Zayn.”

               “You, too, Harry. Sleep tight.”

               Zayn’s about to hang up his phone when he hears Harry call out brightly, “Wank to the thought of me!”

               Zayn lets out a loud laugh he hears Harry echo and hangs up the phone, shaking his head and settling back into his bed, happier than he can remember being for a long time.

 

               A couple weeks later Zayn wakes bundled up in his covers, the edge of his blankets pulled up to his chin. He looks around his room through half closed eyes, and his gaze is drawn to the small bit of light coming through the side of his blinds. He blinks, focusing his eyes, and is shocked at the occurrence outside his dorm. He hops out of bed, hurrying to his window and pulls open the shades. Zayn presses his hands against the cold window pane and stares at the soft snowflakes falling silently from the cloudy sky onto the white ground in wonder.

               He quickly runs back to his bed and shuffles through his sheets, picking up his phone. It rings a few times before Zayn hears a muffled grunt from the other end of the phone.

               “Hello?”

               “Harry!” Zayn shouts excitedly into his phone. He walks back over the window, pressing his nose against the glass. “Harry, wake up! It’s snowing!”

               “Umm… Fantastic,” Harry grumbles.

               “Harry, c’mon,” Zayn tries to persuade, “I want you to come watch it with me!”

               “Zayn,” Harry replies, sighing. “I’m sorry, but it’s really early. And it’s just snow. They’ll be plenty of it for a while.”

               Zayn can imagine Harry running his hand over his face, turning back to his pillow, ready to fall back asleep. “But… I’ve never seen snow fall before.”

               Through the phone Zayn can hear Harry shuffle around on is bed. “You’ve never seen snow fall before?”

               Zayn shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve never seen it at all, except for on TV. We don’t get that in California unless you’re in the mountains.” Zayn taps his fingers against the window and bites down on his lip. “I just… I wanted you to come over and see it with me.”

               “Oh… Okay,” Harry responds, sounding much more chipper, though still not awake. “I’ll be right over.”

               Zayn jumps a little in excitement, a wide grin on his face. “Yes! The door will be unlocked!”

              

               A little while later Zayn hears the door to his room open. He turns around in time to see Harry dropping a pile of stuff to the floor before taking off his coat and scarf. His hair is still in disarray, and he’s got his only pair of sweats hung low on his hips. Zayn gets up from the floor and bounds over to him, an extra bounce in his step. He wraps Harry in a hug, arms snug around his neck, and Harry responds in kind, hands spread across Zayn’s back.

               “This is so sick!” Zayn says when he pulls away from Harry. He leads them both back to the window, and they sit down together on Zayn’s big bean bag chair. “I’m so stoked you came. I saw the snowflakes falling outside, and the first thing I thought was to call you. So I could share it with you, y’know?” The excitement’s making Zayn feel jittery and light, and he for once doesn’t feel uncomfortable sharing the sentimental thought.

               Harry nods and kisses the high point of Zayn’s cheekbone, next to his ear. “I’m glad you thought to call me.”

               Zayn smiles, and turns back to look outside. He follows a single snowflake with his eyes for as long as he can before it disappears into the frost that’s collecting on the ground. “It’s like…magic. Everything is so soft and quiet and still.”

               Harry doesn’t say anything, just looks on at Zayn with amusement, letting him enjoy the experience. Zayn jumps up from the floor, moving quickly across the room to reach the door.

               “C’mon let’s go!”

               “Where do you think you’re off to?”

               Zayn stops and turns back to Harry, giving him a confused look. “I’m going outside. I don’t wanna just look at it all day, Harry.”

               Harry gives him an exasperated sigh. “Well, yah, but you have to be dressed properly first.” He moves to the pile he’d dropped upon entering Zayn’s room. “I brought stuff for you to wear. You need to put it on.”

               “No I don’t.” Zayn brushes him off, eager to get outside. He feels like when he was a kid on the rare occasions his mother would take him to the comic store and allow him to pick out one action figure or book.

               “Zayn. You’ll actually freeze to death. Get over here.”

               “I’ll be fine, Harry,” Zayn says as he moves towards the door again.

               Harry grabs his arm. “Says the person who swore it was inhumane to be forced to attend school in five degree weather.” He grabs a long-sleeved, thick cotton shirt and thrusts it toward Zayn. “Now quit arguing and put this on.”

               Zayn sighs in resignation and walks over to Harry, slipping off his shirt and putting the new one on. “I do not like bossy Harry.” Harry gives him a satisfied smirk and tosses more items of clothing at him. “As long as we’re here, call Niall and the other guys. We should all enjoy the first snow together!”

               By the time Harry’s done making the necessary calls, Zayn is bundled up to his ears in thermals and jackets. Harry pulls a beanie down over Zayn’s head and gives a nod of contentment.

               “You will not die from hypothermia on my watch, Zayn Malik.”

               Zayn adjusts the hat on his head so he can see. “Instead I’m going to die from suffocation from all this clothing constricting my lungs and airways.” He points to his puffy coat. “I look ridiculous, Harry. I’m an oversized purple marshmallow.”

               Harry grabs both of Zayn’s cheeks and puckers his lips for a quick kiss. “Such a beautiful marshmallow. With incredible cheekbones.”

               Zayn turns his head from Harry’s hands and tries to give him a disapproving look, but it ends up coming off as adoring.

               The door bangs open loudly, and Niall appears in the doorway. He’s got mountains of sports equipment loaded in his arms including a bat, racket, and soccer ball.

               “I hear it’s your first snow Za-” Niall stops mid-sentence when he takes in Zayn’s attire, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Oh my fucking… Harry, what have you done to the poor lad?”

               Zayn scowls at Harry and crosses his arms, a feat in and of itself with how many layers he has on. “I told you I look stupid. I don’t need-” 

               “Hey,” Harry insists. “Zayn’s sensitive to the cold. He needs to wear-“

               “Oh bollocks. He’s tougher than you. You’re the one who complains when his tea’s too hot. And even so, Zaynie here doesn’t need to be dressed up as a marshmallow.”

               Zayn’s eyes go wide as he looks to Harry and points to Niall. “I told you so!” He begins hurriedly taking off layers, but makes sure to keep a few thermals on as well as his beanie and mittens. Harry gives him his usual pout, lips frowning and eyebrows drawn together. “I’ll be fine, Harry.” Zayn walks over the heap of clothes and gives him a soft kiss, his mittened hand against Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for the concern though.”

               Harry smiles at him with big, bright eyes, and Zayn thinks once again how he’d do anything to make Harry smile like that- even if it meant looking like a purple marshmallow.  

 

               It snows and snows for days until all the buildings, ground, and trees are blanketed in white. Zayn doesn’t grow tired of it though, even when he comes back to his dorm after class, and he can’t feel his fingers, or when Louis surprise attacks him with a flurry of snowballs.

His excitement quickly fades away, however, when he receives news that the storm’s only going to get worse and all flights leaving the area have been canceled, which means he won’t be able to fly back home for the holiday break- at least not until the weather gets better. Zayn calls his mom to fill her in on the situation, and she’s just as, if not more, disappointed than him. Harry comes over later in the day to offer any comfort he can.

               Zayn lays on his bed with his hand behind his head, Harry next to him drawing small circles on Zayn’s stomach.

               “It’s just such a bummer, man.” Zayn breathes out heavily, disappointment settling in his chest. He’d been trying to create a mental list of everything he wanted to tell his family, already imagining his sisters’ wide eyes as he described the snow and how the city looks at night. “I was so excited to go home. So fucking excited.”

               “I know,” Harry murmurs solemnly. “You’ve been talking about it a lot the last couple weeks.” He nuzzles his nose against Zayn’s shoulder, placing a soft kiss over the fabric of the sweater Zayn had “borrowed” from him weeks ago. “I’m sorry, Zayn.”

               Zayn sighs, pulling Harry closer to him. “It’s alright. Just have to wait a bit longer, I guess. They say the storm’s supposed to last at least another week. It’s a good thing they keep the campus open during the holidays.”

               Harry shifts so he has one leg and arm draped over Zayn, and he’s looking up at him, chin resting on Zayn’s chest. “You should come stay with me.”

               “What?”

               Harry nudges against him with his nose. “I said you should come stay with me. At my house. You can’t be here all alone while everyone else is back home. That’s just sad. Come back home with me.”

               “Are you sure that’s okay? I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”

               Harry scoffs at him. “Don’t worry about it. You will not be intruding. My mum would be telling you the same thing if she was here. She’d be very disappointed in me if let you stay here by yourself.”

               Zayn cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and looks down at him, smirking. “You wanna take me home then, Styles?” Harry moves further up his body, nodding with a smirk of his own before pressing their lips together. Zayn sighs heavily. “Guess that means I’m meeting your mom and sister, then?”

               Harry hums affirmatively. “You want to… right?”

               “Of course, of course,” Zayn assures him. He knows how much Harry respects his mom and sister, and he can already feel a tangle of nerves forming in his stomach. “I just hope they like me.”

               Harry smiles warmly at him and places another quick kiss on Zayn’s lips. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”

               Zayn nods stiffly and takes a deep breath, holding onto Harry tighter when he cuddles into his neck.

 

 

               It takes them much longer to get to Harry’s house than it normally would, the snow slowing them down and even making them pull over and stop when a particularly heavy flurry would start up. They eventually make it to Harry’s home, and though he’d managed to keep his nervousness at bay for most of the trip, indulging Harry in his car ride sing-alongs, as they drive up the long path to Harry’s house, Zayn begins to feel anxious. He shifts in his seat, straightening out his shirt and trying to wipe away a stain he’s just noticed on the knee of his jeans. Harry swats at his hand, momentarily turning his eyes to Zayn.

               “Stop worrying. It’s gonna be great.”

               Zayn smiles at him with tight lips pressed together, acknowledging Harry’s efforts at reassurance, but still not feeling confident or settled.

               Harry shifts the car into park, and they both get out of the car, feet crunching the snow underneath them. Harry meets Zayn and holds his hand, intertwining their fingers. Zayn takes in a deep breath. He knows he’s only working himself up, but standing in front of Harry’s house, he’s still somehow surprised by how much this means to him.

               “Harry!”

               They both turn their heads toward the shouting, and a brunette woman Zayn knows to be Harry’s mom from pictures he’s seen is rushing down the front steps.

               “Thought I head you drive up! Come on in! Worry about your bags later, you’ll catch you death out here.”

               When Harry gets to her, she pulls him into a tight hug. He’s nearly half a foot taller than her, but he hunches over so she can kiss him on each cheek.

               “Aww, look at my baby.” She brushes the fly-away hairs that have gotten loose from Harry’s beanie and frowns. “We’ll get you a haircut before you leave, Darling.”

               Harry gives a short laugh and smiles at her. “Anyway, Mum this is Zayn. Zayn, Mum.”

               “Oh! So sorry, I’m being so rude.” Zayn puts his hand out for a hand shake, but she ignores it, wrapping him in a hug. “Very nice to meet you, Zayn.”

               “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cox.”

               “Oh, don’t be silly. Call me Anne.” She puts her hand on his shoulder and leads him inside the house. “Now, I talked to your mother on the phone earlier- she’s so lovely- and she gave me the best recipe for this new dish I’ve been wanting to try out…”

               Zayn glances over his shoulder and sees Harry trailing in behind them with a fond smile. When he sees Zayn look at him, he winks and gives him an encouraging thumbs up.

 

               Later on after dinner’s been eaten and they’ve brought in their bags, Zayn spends a little time unpacking his things and setting himself up in the guest bedroom. He lays back on the bed to relax, crossing his arms behind his head. Dinner had been sufficiently awkward. It had been him, Harry, Gemma, Anne, and Robin, and though they all asked questions and gave valiant attempts to make polite conversation, Zayn could never seem to think of what to say to keep it going past one sentence answers.

               He hears Harry clomping up the stairs toward his room. A lighter pair joins him, but the footsteps stop as they get near his door.

               Zayn recognizes Anne’s voice. “Not much of a talker is he?” 

               He hears Harry mumble something, his deep voice harder to understand through the walls. “… just the way he is.”

               “Yeah, I remember you telling me that before… I just want him to feel comfortable, so let him know he can always ask me if he needs anything.”

               Harry says something that sounds like, “I will,” and Zayn hears the lighter footsteps patter away.

               A moment later Zayn’s bedroom door opens, and Harry walks in carrying two pillows.

               “Don’t you know you’re supposed to knock?” Zayn teases.

               “What could I possibly walk in on you doing that I haven’t seen already?”

               Zayn shrugs his shoulder casually. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m into freaky stuff you don’t even know about yet.”

               Harry quirks up his eyebrow. “You’ll have to tell me more about that later. I brought you some extra pillows.” He holds them up, and Zayn reaches out to grab them, but Harry tosses them behind him onto the bed and takes Zayn’s face in his hands, kissing his lips.

               “I know this is selfish,” Harry mumbles against Zayn’s mouth, “but I’m almost kind of glad you had to stay here for a bit longer. I didn’t want you to leave.”

               Harry looks up to Zayn hesitantly, gauging his reaction. “Spending more time with you is definitely the positive side of all this.”

               Zayn presses another kiss to Harry’s lips, and he can feel Harry smiling against his mouth. Harry runs his hands down Zayn’s sides and reaches his hands underneath the hem of his sweater, pressing his fingers to the small dip in Zayn’s back to bring him closer. Harry licks into his mouth and pushes against Zayn until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Harry brings his knee round to sit on Zayn’s lap, but Zayn pushes him back with a giggle.

               “No way. Your mom could catch us!”

               Harry sits down on his lap anyway, but simply wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist, clasping his own hands together.

               “My parents have caught me doing a lot worse.” Zayn gives him an alarmed look, and Harry laughs with his head thrown back. “Ask me about Hannah Thurrow and Janet Morae sometime.”

               Zayn shakes his head in disbelief and places a quick peck to Harry’s cheek. “Alright then, c’mon. It’s time for you to be one your way.” Zayn slaps his bum emphasizing his point, and Harry giggles, cheeks flushing slightly. “Ya menace,” Zayn adds.

               Harry lets out a bark of laughter and sluggishly climbs off Zayn’s lap, tripping when his feet hit the hardwood. When he gets to the door he turns back around.

               “We’re all gonna be downstairs, by the way, watching a movie. ‘Family Time’ and all that Mum said since I’ve just got back. You can come down and watch with us if you want.”

               Anne’s “Not much of a talker is he?” echoes in Zayn’s mind. “Yeah. Sure. ‘Course,” Zayn stutters out.

               Harry gives him a quick look of confusion, but brushes it off. “Kay, see you down stairs in a bit, then.”

Zayn nods, and when Harry leaves he flops back down onto the bed with a huff.

 

               Later on, Zayn’s lying in bed while the rest of the house is still, everyone else having fallen asleep hours ago. Zayn’s brain can’t seem to shut off, and he turns over for what must be the hundredth time since he laid down to sleep.

               He hears a creak from the opposite end of the room and pulls his blankets up to his chin, squinting in the dim light. Zayn watches as Harry pokes his head through the door and tiptoes in, his face scrunching up when the bed creaks softly as he climbs in next to Zayn and pulls the blankets over himself.

               Zayn turns toward him and whispers, “I told you it’s not happening.”

               “Shut up,” Harry responds. “I just want to sleep next to you.” Zayn moves closer to him until their knees are touching, and Harry strokes Zayn’s cheek with his thumb. He looks at Zayn concerned. “You seemed a bit off tonight. You okay?”

               Zayn’s mouth twists in disappointment at himself. “I’m sorry. I’m really trying. I’m just not good at this stuff like you are. Everywhere you go, everyone likes you. You always make people laugh, make them feel comfortable.” He presses his face to Harry’s chest, and it’s muffled when he says, “I don’t know how to do that.”

               Harry’s hand comes down to rub at his back, but Zayn can’t bring his face up to look at Harry.

               “You need to stop being so hard on yourself, Zayn. You’re doing brilliantly. Mum certainly thinks so.”

               Zayn peeks up at him. “Really?”

               Harry raises the pitch of his voice to imitate her. “‘Such nice manners! And even more handsome than you told me, Harry!’” Zayn laughs quietly into Harry’s chest, and Harry beams down at him. “You’re not necessarily the most outspoken lad I’ve ever met, but it doesn’t matter. Once people get to know you, they can’t help but I adore you.” Harry smiles at him. “I would know.”

               Zayn punches him in the chest. “You’re a cheeseball. It’s awful.”

               Harry presses a firm kiss to Zayn’s lips. “You love it.”

               Zayn schools his face into a look of nonchalance. “No I don’t.”

               “Yes you do,” Harry murmurs against his mouth.

               He reaches down to Zayn’s sides to tickle him, and Zayn squirms, trying to get away. For once Harry’s too quick though, and he pins Zayn to the bed, one leg between both of Zayn’s, and runs his hands over his ribs and waist. Zayn covers his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter and shakes his head.

               He tries to push Harry away, but Harry only leans closer saying through breathy laughter, “You love it.” Zayn smiles up at him, eyes crinkling, and gives in, nodding his head. “Say it,” Harry teases.

               Zayn obliges, catching his breath now that Harry’s stopped tickling him. “I love it.”

               “You love it.” Harry laughs quietly, nudging his nose against Zayn’s.

               “Mhmm,” Zayn hums, poking Harry’s chest. “I love your stupid, cheesy, overly sentimental, disgustingly endearing personality.”

 Zayn can feel himself blushing, so he looks past Harry’s face, gaze traveling along the dip in Harry’s back and down his long legs. Harry presses a lingering kiss to Zayn’s cheek and lays down beside Zayn on the bed. Zayn turns to his side and scoots until he can feel Harry’s chest against his back. Harry drapes one arm over Zayn, and Zayn tips his head down to kiss his arm.

               “Goodnight, Harry.”

               Harry presses a kiss to the top of Zayn’s head. “Night, Zayn.”

              

               Zayn’s standing by the toaster, waiting for his bread to pop up, when Harry comes stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he sees Zayn he gets a lazy smile on his face that Zayn automatically reciprocates. He puts a hand on Zayn’s hip and rests his chin on his shoulder.

               “I snuck out of your room early this morning,” he says, voice still rough from sleep, “just in case. Thought it’d be a good idea.”

               “One of your few,” Zayn replies, and Harry grins, snuggling his face into Zayn’s shirt and giving a weak mumble of protest.

               The toaster pops, and they both jump, giggling lightly at each other. Harry steals one of the pieces of toast, and Zayn frowns. Harry just takes a huge bite and smiles smugly, crumbs sticking to his lips.

                
               “Oh good! You’re both finally up,” Anne says as she appears from around the corner. Zayn looks to the clock and realizes it’s nearly noon. “Did you sleep well last night, Zayn? Was everything comfortable?”

               Zayn purposefully doesn’t make contact with Harry who he can tell is smirking at him in his peripheral. “Yeah, great. Best night’s sleep in a while with school and all that. Thank you so much, Anne.”

               She smiles at him, and it’s actually uncanny how much Harry looks like her, dimples and all. Gemma, too, but it’s a bit harder to tell with her bright pink hair.

               Robin comes bustling in next, pulling on a hat and thick jacket. “I’m off to go see if I can make it to the store. Need to get some things in case the storm gets any worse. Care to join, Harry?”

               “Actually, I was thinking Zayn and I-” Harry’s gaze flickers to his mom, and she gives him a hopeful look. “Um, I mean yeah, sure. I’d love to.”

               “Great!” Anne responds before turning to Zayn. “Maybe we can have a go at that recipe your mum told me about, then, yah?”

               “Sure,” Zayn responds, smiling politely at her, “sounds fun.”

 

               A little bit later and they’re both sat at the kitchen table, peeling and cutting up apples for the batter and making small talk. As it turns out, Anne had asked Trisha what one of Zayn’s favorite desserts is, and his mom had passed on that he loves the cake she always makes every winter. It has apples, chocolate chips and lots of warm spices in it, like cinnamon and nutmeg. Her mom, his grandma, had passed down the recipe; they didn’t really even have a name for it, but Zayn always looked forward to it during the cold months of the year.

               “I hope you don’t feel as if I’m interrogating you,” Anne says as she picks up another apple.

               “No, not all,” Zayn insists. She had been asking a lot of questions, but Zayn can’t blame her. She seemed to be incredibly nice anyway and only asking out of genuine want to get to know him better.

               “Good, I’m glad. Because that wasn’t the point of this, really. I’ve been wanting Harry to spend more time with Robin, you see, but between school and… well, you know, it’s been a bit difficult. He has his own life and what not…”

               “Yeah, Harry told me you’re getting married. Congratulations,” Zayn says, smiling warmly.

               Anne looks at him with an affectionate grin, but Zayn sees a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “Thank you so much. That’s very kind of you.”

              

               Later at night, Harry sneaks into his room again, and this time it’s him, not Zayn, who looks distressed.

               Harry’s lying with his head on Zayn’s chest, an arm thrown across his torso and a leg hitched up over his hips when Zayn asks, “What’s up, babe?”

               “Mmm?” he mumbles, and Zayn knows without looking that he has that faraway, concentrated look in his eyes he always gets when he’s thinking too much.

               “I said what’s up? What’s wrong?”

               It takes Harry a little while to respond. “Been feeling weird all day…”

               Zayn runs his hands through Harry’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. He decides to take the direct approach, keeping his voice low. “Does it have something to do with Robin?”

               Harry tightens his grip around Zayn’s waist and presses his face closer to his chest. “Yeah. Well, no. Well…I don’t know… I don’t really know how I feel about it all.”

               “‘It all’ being…?”

               “Robin, my mum getting married again, all that. I’m not sure about it.”

               Zayn shifts them both, so they’re lying on their sides facing each other. He brings his arm around Harry, keeping them close together.

               “Why are you not sure about it?”

               “Because it’s just… it’s hard having to watch her get married and then… divorced again. I mean the second one lasted literally months. How could you think you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone and then have it last only months? How does that happen?” Harry shakes his head. “And I’m not saying it’s my mum’s fault. It’s not. I know she only ever does what she thinks is best for me and Gem, but I just... It makes me sad. How am I supposed to not go into this a third time thinking that’s going to be the outcome? I love seeing my mum happy, but I can’t help but think… eventually I’m going to have to see her gutted again.”

               Zayn doesn’t know what to say; he’s never faced this problem before. His parents have always been strong, always been together in everything they do. Of course they have arguments like everyone does, but they’ve never ceased to be a source of stability for Zayn. He doesn’t know how he would deal with it if they weren’t.

               “Did I ever tell you about the first person I actually dated?” Harry asks. Zayn shakes his head no. “She was this girl named Izzy when I was fifteen. Let me tell you,” Harry says, laughing at himself, “it was mad. I did all these romantic gestures for her. I would buy her flowers, write poetry- mind you it was absolute shit- but I did all these things, whatever she asked for, whatever she wanted. And to me, it didn’t seem mad, it didn’t seem like it was too much because that’s the way I honestly felt on the inside. I thought everything of her, and I was just trying to show it in every way I could.

               “Then one day, I find out she’d been making fun of me behind my back the whole time. You know, saying how she could ask me to do anything, and I’d roll over like a dog… It’s just funny, innit? Because I thought she liked me just as much, but I was dead wrong.”

               Zayn imagines young, ever-sincere Harry prancing around after a girl wholeheartedly with his big green eyes, and his own heart aches for him.

               “It just makes me think that maybe I have a similar problem. Like, I maybe keep setting myself up for heartache because even after Izzy I couldn’t stop being that way. I mean, I managed to tone it down a bit, thank God, but it just makes me think that maybe I can never really tell when someone genuinely likes me as much as I like them. Maybe I’m just putting my own feelings onto them and seeing a reflection of it, you know? Does that make any sense?”

               Zayn nods. “To be honest though, it’s one of my favorite things about you- the way you show emotion so freely I mean. You’re always honest with me, never afraid to show affection- alone or in front of people. Or maybe sometimes you are afraid, but you never let that stop you. I’ve always thought that I’d be lucky if any of that part of you rubbed off onto me.”

               Harry smiles cheekily. “I want all my parts to rub off on you.”

               Zayn laughs, dampening the sound by turning his head to the pillow. He looks back to Harry, running his fingers over his cheeks reverently. “I don’t want you to ever worry that I’m just here to… use you or get a laugh, okay? It actually makes me sick to my stomach that someone’s ever done that to you and that you could think I’m doing the same. Because I could _never_. And that’s my own fault that I don’t… show you enough to make sure you have no doubts. I know I’m still working on that. I just, uh… I love you, okay?”

               Zayn’s entire body tenses when he realizes what he’s said. It’s not that he didn’t mean it, it’s just that he hadn’t planned on saying that now. In fact he’d always been worried about being able to say it back after Harry had already told him without choking on his words. His chest starts to grow hot, and although he’s sure it’s only been a few seconds, he truly feels like he might puke waiting for Harry’s response.

               “Okay. I love you, too, Zayn.” Harry smiles at him widely, and even in the dark Zayn can see his eyes shining. Harry reaches out and wraps his arms around Zayn squeezing him so tightly that Zayn actually has a little bit of a difficult time breathing fully. Zayn hugs him back, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Maybe because of finally saying the words that had been bouncing around in his head or being able to trust someone so much- Zayn’s not quite sure- but he knows it’s because of Harry.

               When Harry let’s go of him, he presses a long kiss to Zayn’s lips and flops back onto his chest. He lays still with his arms around Zayn, and Zayn closes his eyes, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

               Just as he’s about to drift off, he feels Harry poke him in the chest.

               “Zayn? Are you awake?”

               Zayn doesn’t move.

               “Are you pretending to be asleep?”

               “Maybe,” Zayn grumbles, keeping his eyes closed.

               “I can’t get to sleep. I’m too excited.”

               Harry’s known to get random bouts of random energy; Zayn’s waken up multiple times in the middle of the night to a note stuck to the pillow beside him saying, “Went for a walk!” or to Harry crouched over his notebook on the floor, scribbling. Despite his exhaustion, however, Zayn feels a smile tug at his lips at the thought of this excitement being not so random.

               “Come on.” Harry grabs Zayn’s arm trying to pull him out of bed.

               “Harry, we can’t go anywhere. It’s freezing outside. Literally.”

               “We’re not going outside, just come on. Bring your blankets.”

               Zayn sighs, but gives in, reluctantly crawling out of bed and dragging his blankets behind him as he follows Harry downstairs.

               Harry leads them to the den room where they all had watched a movie the night before. Harry closes the door behind them and walks over to the cabinets underneath the TV, shuffling through DVDs until he finds the right one. He puts it in the player and walks back over to Zayn. He tries to sit down with Zayn’s head in his lap, but Zayn insists that he lays down as well because if he falls asleep like that he’ll have a crick in his neck he’ll complain about all day tomorrow.

               Harry settles for Zayn cuddling up behind him, so Harry can still watch the movie while Zayn falls back asleep. When Zayn hears the movie’s beginning he peeks over Harry’s shoulder and sees that Harry’s chosen Love Actually. He smiles to himself and kisses Harry’s shoulder before lowering his head back to the couch and falling asleep, feeling blissful and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry Harry wrote for Zayn and all the poetry given to Zayn from now on are originals from me unless otherwise stated. Again, thanks for being so patient while I was unable to update!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn’s not sure how that translates to their relationship. He knows that before him, Harry was flighty, never letting his flings last longer than a couple months, whereas Zayn’s only had one relationship before, and it lasted nearly two years. Zayn sees that pattern of constant change in everything Harry does, from the way he dresses to his need to meet and talk to everyone. An inkling of doubt he’s felt before itches the back of Zayn’s brain- the one that makes him wonder if Harry will eventually get bored or need more space than Zayn’s willing to give him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make a blog for the fic I write, so if you guys want to you can come check it out at h0ney-maid.tumblr.com :)

               In the morning Zayn wakes up with Harry curled toward him, forehead pressed to Zayn’s chest. Zayn lies next to Harry silent for a while, brushing the curls out of his face with his fingers and tracing over the pale freckles on his cheek that form a triangle. Zayn shifts himself down the couch, nuzzling into Harry’s neck, and the movement must wake Harry because his arm comes to wrap around Zayn as he hums happily.

               “ ‘Morning,” Harry mumbles. He runs his hands in small circles on Zayn’s back, scratching lightly.

               Zayn kisses his neck softly, lifting a finger to poke at his cheek so a dimple shows. “ ‘Morning, Sleepyhead. Enjoy your movie?”

               He feels Harry’s head shift against his as he nods. Zayn raises his head and presses his lips against Harry’s jaw, placing slow, tender kisses wherever his lips happen to land, lazily loving the taste of Harry’s skin first thing in the morning. Harry gives a gentle sigh and wraps his arms tighter around Zayn. He brings one hand up to card through Zayn’s hair, tilting Zayn’s face toward his, so he can bring their lips together. They both have terrible morning breath, but neither of them seem to mind, kissing easily until Harry presses their mouths together more firmly and shifts so Zayn can lie between his thighs. Zayn runs his hands down Harry’s sides and presses their bodies closer together. He tugs on Harry’s lip between his teeth, and he hears Harry’s stomach let out a small grumble. He tries to ignore it, but seconds later it lets out another _loud_ one in hungry protest. Zayn can’t help but laugh against Harry’s mouth, his hands coming to a halt. Harry gives a low, annoyed whine, and lets his head slump back against the couch.

               Zayn rests his head on Harry’s chest, palm drawing smooth lines in the fabric above Harry’s heart. “Wanna make some breakfast?” he asks, kissing Harry on the cheek.

              “No,” Harry objects, but his stomach gives another tell-tale gurgle. He rolls his eyes, huffing. “Fine.”

              Zayn smiles and crawls off of him, extending out his hand so Harry can take it. Harry looks down at his stomach and pokes it, muttering, “Traitor.” He grabs Zayn’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and knocks against his shoulder playfully when he stands up, grinning.

 

                When they get to the kitchen, Anne and Gemma are already there, finishing off slices of toast and cups of tea.

                Anne smiles when she sees them. “Sleep well?” she asks, and they both nod. “Brilliant! Today, Mrs. Theebler next door needs help with some chores around the house, so I’m going to be gone pretty much the entire day. And Robin’s been called into work. Apparently the storm’s just about settled down.”

               “Really?” Zayn asks, a spark of excitement filling his chest.

               “Mhmm. I checked the reports for you, darling, and you should be able to fly out tomorrow.” Anne gives him a wide grin, and Zayn returns it, renewed anticipation at going home making him feel giddy.

                “Well that’s good news, innit?” Harry adds, and Zayn nods jumping on his feet a bit.

                “Thank you so much for checking, Anne. This is awesome!” Zayn pumps his fists in the air, and they all chuckle at him warmly.

                “Oh, Mum,” Gemma says from the table, “I’m gonna go over to George’s today, then, if it’s alright. I’ve been cooped up in this house for days.”

                “Go ahead," Anne replies, and Gemma tosses the last corner of toast into her mouth and gets up from the table, scampering to her room. “Guess that means you two will have the house today,” Anne says pointing to Zayn and Harry. “Try not to burn the house down and all that, alright?” She turns toward Zayn and mutters, “You would not believe the things I would come home to when Louis would stay at ours for the summer…” She shakes her head, eyes looking up as if she’s remembering something. “Love that boy, though.”

                Zayn doesn’t have a hard time believing her, and smiles knowingly. She picks her purse from off the counter and gives them both kisses on each cheek before waving goodbye and heading out the door.

                Harry turns on his heel to face Zayn and gives him a pleased and excited look. “Let’s make pancakes.”

                They take out the various ingredients from the pantry and place them on the counter, and while Zayn’s mashing up a bunch of bananas, Harry runs upstairs to get his laptop, so they can have music playing while they cook breakfast.

                Harry puts on what Zayn thinks is one of the most eclectic playlists he’s ever heard, containing everything from Jonie Mitchell to A$AP Rocky to Rage Against the Machine.

                They dance in the kitchen as they mix ingredients, Harry more than once flipping over a measuring cup or spatula with his long limbs in his vigorous attempts at dancing. Zayn thinks it’s adorable, though, eyes crinkling with laughter as he watches Harry hop around to the beat while mixing the batter.

                Zayn himself is giving a rousing rendition of Versace, feet shuffling across the floor with Harry as his hype man when Gemma comes downstairs, stopping to give them each speculative looks. Zayn gets embarrassed, but Harry runs over to her and tries to get her to join in on the dancing. She hastily pushes him away and shakes her head fondly, and exasperatedly, and makes her way out the door.

 

                The chocolate chip banana pancakes turn out deliciously, and Zayn compliments Harry on them since he ended up doing most of the work. When they’re done rinsing off all their dishes, Harry grabs his laptop, and they head back upstairs to Harry’s room, Harry bumping his hip against Zayn’s to the beat of the song playing.

                When they get to his room, Harry puts his laptop on his desk, turning it too a much more relaxed playlist, and flops back onto his bed. Zayn’s never really gotten the chance to look around Harry’s room before, so he takes his time walking around, shuffling through his vinyls and letting his fingers trail over the rows of books on his many shelves. A few small paintings with weird sayings Zayn doesn’t understand the significance of are hung up in mismatched frames. He looks around at all the pictures taped to Harry’s walls: some of his mom and sister and many of friends. In a couple of them Harry’s very young, and he’s surprised to see that his hair is short and straight. He still looks like Harry though, the same wide eyes and dimpled grin.

                On top of his dresser he has various knickknacks, stubs from shows and candles of various scents. He noticed Harry had them in his dorm too, but when he asked about them, Harry said he wasn’t allowed to ever light them due to his roommate having a “sensitive nose”. Zayn continues to study the array of things sprawled out on the space and sees a small banana figurine. It has a sunglasses on and a big grin, and when Zayn pokes it, it bobs up and down, like it’s attached to a spring.

               Zayn smiles to himself and walks back over to Harry’s bookshelves, picking out something to read. He hasn’t been able to read for leisure since school started, and today, with the weather keeping them from outside, seems like the perfect day.

               Zayn lies down next to Harry, one hand behind his head and one holding the book up in front of him. It opens easily, so Zayn knows it’s been thoroughly read. Next to him Harry lefts out an impatient huff. A few moments later, after Zayn hasn’t acknowledged him, he scoots closer, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s jaw. He makes his way down Zayn’s neck with open-mouthed kisses, sucking where his collarbone starts. Zayn feels his skin tingle, but he keeps his eyes forward, focusing on the book. When Zayn still doesn’t react Harry makes a small whine and looks up at him, pouting.

               Zayn laughs lightly, looking down at him, and runs his hand through Harry’s hair. “Sorry, babe, you know I just like to tease you sometimes.”

               Harry nips at his collarbone. “You’re too good at it.” He exaggeratedly glares up at Zayn and takes the book out his hand, closing and tossing it to the side somewhere. “Dostoyevsky is not important right now.”

               Zayn laughs and puts his other hand behind his head, leaning forward slightly to look at Harry. Harry presses his lips to Zayn’s, but Zayn doesn’t let him deepen the kiss, only giving him fleeting pecks.

               Harry gives a grumble of dissatisfaction. “C’mon, I’ve been very good and very patient.” Zayn still doesn’t respond so Harry tries another tactic, batting his eyelashes and drawing out a “Please…”

               Zayn holds Harry’s cheek in his hand, smirking. “Well when you ask so nicely…”

               Zayn brings Harry in for a kiss, but this time he presses his tongue to Harry’s lips and licks into his mouth. When he does Harry gives a satisfied hum, like he needed to taste Zayn, to touch him, and it makes Zayn feel a bit drunk.

               Zayn flips them over, and Harry settles easily underneath him. He kisses Harry slowly, sucking on his tongue and lips, and Zayn notices he still tastes sweet from the pancakes earlier that morning. Harry moves roughly against him, spreading his hands over Zayn’s body and grabbing at his hips. When Harry tries to lift up Zayn’s shirt, Zayn swats his hands away, instead intertwining their fingers, and Harry gives a whine of frustration.

               Zayn breaks the kiss and looks down at Harry, breathing already quicker than normal.  He nudges their noses together and brushes his lips against Harry’s cheek.

               “Relax,” Zayn says with a smile. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes go soft, and he nods, breathing deeply and biting on his lip.

               “Good,” Zayn mumbles, and he dips his head to press a kiss to Harry’s neck, by the hinge of his jaw. He kisses down Harry’s throat, leaving a small lovebite at the dip in his collarbone, and when he licks against it he can feel the vibrations of Harry’s pleased groan.

               Zayn runs his hands down Harry’s chest, feeling Harry’s muscles shift underneath the soft cotton fabric of his t-shirt. Harry lifts his arms, and Zayn strips it off, tossing the clothing to the side. He follows the slope of Harry’s shoulder with his mouth, pressing wet kisses until he gets to the ending point of his collarbone. Zayn repeats his actions on the other side and moves down Harry’s chest. When he licks across his nipple, Harry takes in an audible breath and brings his hand up to the nape of Zayn’s neck, carding his fingers through the soft hair. Zayn sucks and drags his teeth across the sensitive skin, flattening his tongue to lap at it before moving across Harry’s chest to the other one. He moves his tongue in small circles, and Harry wiggles underneath him, holding onto his hair tighter and arching his back.

               Zayn makes a scattered line down his torso with nips and licks and kisses until he reaches just above Harry’s baggy sweats. He pushes his thumbs underneath the waist of them, and Harry lifts his hips so Zayn can slide them off. He’s of course not wearing any boxers underneath, and Harry’s sighs at the relief of the cool air on his skin, his cock leaving a wet smudge on his lower stomach.

               Zayn follows the line of Harry’s hips with his tongue, tilting his head to bite at the softest part, always having been one of his favorite parts of Harry’s body. He hums against him and sucks a bruise onto where would be the border between his pants and bare skin, and Harry rolls his hips up to meet Zayn’s mouth, keening softly. Zayn holds Harry down, hands gripping his hips.

He rubs his thumbs gently over his smooth skin and thinks for the hundredth time how different his is than Zayn’s- just planes of blank skin, no ink to interrupt the changes in tone from his hips to his waist to his chest. Zayn can never stop staring and tasting. He’d almost forgotten what that looked like, his first, and only, girlfriend before Harry having two sleeves and thigh tattoos of her own.

He dips his head to kiss up the inside of Harry’s thighs, and Harry keeps shifting his legs, like he’s not sure if wants to bring them tighter around Zayn or open up more. Zayn makes the decision for him and pushes his knees out, so he can fit better in between them.

               He looks up at Harry and licks lightly at the tip of his cock, and Harry inhales sharply, letting the breath out with a low groan. Zayn closes his lips around the head and sucks slowly, feeling a shiver go through Harry that his own body echoes. Zayn licks a long stripe up the length of him and replaces his mouth with his hand, stroking Harry and rubbing his thumb across his slit.

               Zayn tugs him off slowly, moving at an agonizing pace that has Harry chasing his hand, pushing his hips up to try and make Zayn go faster. He pushes Harry’s hips to the bed again, and Harry lets his head fall against the mattress with huff, closing his eyes. His hands come up to travel across his chest like he’s trying to calm himself, and Zayn has to take a moment of his own to watch, mesmerized.

               Zayn lowers his head between Harry’s legs, and though he can’t see him anymore from this angle, he listens for Harry’s reaction as he licks a line across Harry’s hole to the skin behind his balls. Harry lets out a short yelp of surprise, but after the initial shock he presses his feet against the bed, grinding his hips back down onto Zayn’s tongue. Zayn licks across him again, and Harry moans, encouraging him.

Zayn’s never done this before, but Harry’s mentioned it a couple time of times, in the context of experiences with other guys. Zayn’s not quite sure what he should do, but he can’t really imagine denying Harry of anything he wants, so he thinks of what would feel good to him, and does it to Harry, listening to the hitches in his breathing and the low, rough groans escaping his throat.

               Zayn presses his tongue inside, and Harry moans loudly, hands gripping the sheets. In between breaths he mumbles, “Yeah, Zayn, that. That, please…”

 Zayn feels a spark of heat dissipate through his body, and he grips Harry’s thigh, pulling him further against his mouth, spurred on by Harry’s whimpers and groans. Harry’s ankles cross behind Zayn’s head where he’s hitched his knees over Zayn’s shoulders, and Harry pushes his hips against Zayn, moving in circles to press against his mouth and into his hand. Zayn moves his hand wrapped around Harry’s cock faster and drags his lips messily against Harry’s hole. He thrusts his tongue in and out of Harry, sucking a kiss against the ring of muscle, and with a gravelly moan Harry comes hot in Zayn’s hand and over his stomach.

               Zayn leans back up on his knees, watching Harry’s breath even out. Harry looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes, and Zayn wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and brings the other up to lick at his fingers, sticky with Harry’s come. Harry watches him, and he groans, tongue flicking out to lick at his bottom lip. He reaches up and grabs Zayn, who’s unfortunately still fully clothed, and pulls him down on top of him. Harry’s hand snakes down to the front of Zayn’s sweats where he’s now painfully hard, but Zayn shoves his hand away.

               Harry looks at him confused and starts, “But-”

               “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re not finished yet.” He nods down toward Harry’s hand. “Keep yourself hard for me, and I’ll be back in a sec, okay?”           

               Harry nods, and Zayn feels his stomach flip at Harry’s willingness to always do as he asks. Zayn gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before half-jogging to get what he needs from his room.

               When he reaches the guest bedroom he hurriedly rifles through his suitcase, finally finding the bottle of lube he’d packed. He hurries back to Harry’s room, but backtracks when he passes the bathroom, taking time to quickly gargle some mouthwash in case Harry would prefer it.

               When he gets to the room, Harry’s doing as he was told, and Zayn’s feet suddenly stop moving when he sees, the breath in his lungs leaving him.

               “Fuck,” Zayn mutters under his breath as he watches Harry stroke himself, big hand wrapped around his cock while he breathes through parted lips, flinching since he’s still sensitive.

               Zayn walks over and climbs over him, straddling his hips, and takes both of Harry’s hands in his, bringing them to rest above Harry’s head. Zayn presses his lips to Harry’s, and Harry quickly licks into his mouth. He brushes his tongue against Zayn’s and pulls back, murmuring, “Minty fresh.”

               Zayn laughs loudly and turns his head to side, pressing his forehead to Harry’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure, like… protocol wise…”

               Harry giggles in response and kisses Zayn’s temple. “That was very considerate of you.” Zayn lifts his head back up to kiss Harry’s lips, and Harry adds, “I wouldn’t have minded, though, just to let you know.”

               “Noted,” Zayn says, “I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

               “Lots of future references,” Harry breathes out, and he lifts his head to meet Zayn, bringing their lips together and tightening his grip on Zayn’s hands.

               Zayn sits up and grinds against Harry, watching his eyebrows furrow together as he chews on his bottom lip. He gets distracted by the sight and runs his hands over Harry’s chest, tracing his fingers over his necklaces and following the lines of his abs.  Sometimes he can’t believe he gets to be this close to Harry- can’t believe that Harry lets him touch him and makes pancakes for him and sneaks into his room at night so they can fall asleep together, warm bodies wrapped around each other. That Harry confides in him and tells Zayn things he can’t tell anyone else, and that Zayn trusts him enough to do the same.

               When he looks up, Harry’s watching him, eyes narrowed with a cocky grin. “Enjoying yourself?”

               “Shut up,” Zayn replies, pushing his chest. “I don’t like you. At all.”

               “That’s right,” Harry says, sitting up and tightening his arms around Zayn’s waist. “You love me.”

               He nips at Zayn’s bottom lip, and Zayn smiles, pressing his lips against Harry’s. In between kisses he mumbles, “I’ve decided to take it back. Didn’t know you were going to use it against me.”

               “Too late,” Harry replies. He lays Zayn down on his back underneath him, hands on either side of his head and knees bracketing his hips. Zayn feels completely surrounded by Harry, and it’s oddly cozy. “You’re stuck with me now.”

               Harry lowers himself onto his forearms and rocks his hips against Zayn’s, and Zayn moans with his head thrown back, his cock aching to be touched. Harry pulls off his shirt and sucks against Zayn’s neck, rutting against him, and the sounds of their breathy moans mix together. Zayn could honestly come just from this, Harry’s mouth against his skin and their cocks rubbing against each other between their bodies, but he doesn’t want to.

               He grunts and grabs Harry’s hips rolling them over so Zayn's on top again. Harry flounces against the bed, hands immediately going up to grab at Zayn’s sweats, pushing them down his hips and thighs. Zayn wiggles his legs to get them off the rest of the way, kicking them off the bed.

               Zayn presses three of fingers to Harry’s bottom lip and instructs, saying, “Suck.”

               Harry eagerly obliges, closing his mouth and sliding his tongue across the pads of Zayn’s fingers and in between them. Zayn’s jaw tightens at the sensation and he squeezes the base of his cock with his other hand, trying to fight off the warmth quickly spreading throughout his body.

               He slides his fingers out of Harry’s mouth and immediately brings his hand between Harry’s legs, running his index finger around the sensitive skin of Harry’s hole. He slips his finger inside easily, and Harry lets out a loud whine, pushing down onto Zayn’s hand to feel him deeper. Zayn pushes another finger into him, this time more slowly, and he can feel Harry’s legs on either side of him start to shake as he pushes his fingers apart, scissoring them to open Harry up. Zayn smoothes his hands over Harry’s thighs, feeling his heated skin, and presses a third finger him, sliding his fingers in and out and curling them forward. Harry’s mouth forms over a silent groan, and Zayn turns his head to the side to press a kiss to the inside of his knee.

               “You okay, babe? Feel good?”

               Harry nods his head enthusiastically, and Zayn smiles with satisfaction, breathless. He kisses him again and dips his head to move the tip of his tongue around where his fingers are buried deep. Harry curses loudly, the heels of his feet pressing into Zayn’s back. Zayn slips his fingers out, reaching for the bottle of lube, and Harry makes a pained mewling sound at the loss. Zayn scoots backwards, sitting up against the wall behind him, and motions with his hand for Harry to follow him. “C’mere, want you to ride me.”

               Harry scrambles over and holds on to Zayn’s shoulders to keep himself balanced, straddling Zayn’s lap on his knees. Zayn pops open the bottle and squeezes some onto his hand, working it over himself. He holds on to Harry’s hip and watches as Harry lowers himself onto Zayn steadily until he bottoms out.

Zayn breathes out a rough, “Fuck,” and tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He feels Harry start to move on top of him, shallow movements of him grinding his hips and rocking back and forth.

               Zayn looks up at Harry through heavy eyes and sees the concentrated look on his face, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest. He brushes the hair out of his eyes and holds the side of Harry’s face in his hand, rubbing his thumb over his flushed cheeks.

               “You feel so good, Harry. Love seeing you like this, working yourself on my cock. You're so pretty.”

               Harry keens and leans forward to press his lips against Zayn’s, licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. He reaches back with one hand, placing it on Zayn’s knee so he can move up and down in earnest, tightening himself around Zayn.

               Zayn cries out, dipping his head forward to rest it against Harry’s chest and gripping his hips tightly in his hands. He rocks his hips up into Harry’s, and Harry’s head falls back with a loud strangled groan. Harry’s name keeps falling from Zayn’s mouth, in breaths and groans, and Zayn feels delirious and fucked-out and higher than he’s ever felt in his life.

               The front door slams downstairs, and Zayn freezes. He hears someone call out, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab it for ya,” and Zayn recognizes it as Robin’s intern who had stopped by yesterday after work.

               Zayn looks up at Harry with panicked eyes, silently asking him what they should do, but Harry only quietly giggles, whispering, “Oh fuck,” and continues to move against him, smiling.

               “Harry, I-” Zayn stutters, freaking out as he hears footsteps coming up the stairs and realizes the office is right next door to Harry’s room. He opens his mouth to protest, but Harry presses down against him, and he has to concentrate on not letting a loud groan escape his throat. Harry slows down his hips, moving them with a deep grind, and looks down at Zayn with a smirk as Zayn closes his eyes, biting on his bottom lip hard.

               Harry licks at Zayn’s earlobe, sucking on it before dragging it between his teeth. His breath is hot against Zayn’s ear when he whispers, “Fucking love riding you, taking your cock, love feeling you deep inside me.” Zayn hears drawers being opened and papers being shuffled on the other side of the wall, and he has to bite down on Harry’s shoulder to muffle his whimpers, pressing his hand against the small of Harry’s back to bring them together as tightly as possible.

               “Think about it all the time,” Harry continues, his own breath faltering and uneven. “All the different ways I want you to fuck me.” His voice breaks. “Hard enough so that I’m shaking and can feel every inch of you. So I’ll remember exactly how you feel even when you’re gone.” Zayn’s brain is screaming nothing but expletives and Harry’s name, and he digs his finger nails into Harry’s back, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry hisses and bites at his jaw. “You gonna come for me, love? C’mon, come for me Zayn.”

               Zayn’s glad in the distance he hears a door slam shut in that moment as he gasps loudly and spills out inside of Harry, mind going blank and body pressing against him in every place possible. His body moves automatically, and Zayn tips them back so he can thrust into Harry, holding onto his side and stoking his cock roughly. He moves his hand over him only a few times before Harry’s crying out loudly, body curling in on itself and he comes over Zayn’s hand and himself. He whines loudly, arching his back as Zayn pushes into him a couple more times, riding it out, before collapsing onto of him.

               Zayn’s not sure how much time has passed by the time he wakes up, but he’s sure it must have been a while. The room feels a bit colder, and when he tries to get up, Harry’s come on his chest has dried. He looks up, and Harry’s still sound asleep, snoring loudly as usual. Zayn smiles and reaches up to kiss Harry on the cheek before getting up and slipping on his sweats (just in case). He grabs one of Harry’s flannels and takes it with him to the bathroom, running warm water over it. He washes off his chest and walks back to the room.

               As he’s cleaning him off, Harry groggily opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering. He sees Zayn and smiles, and Zayn can see the happiness in his eyes. He tosses the flannel over by Harry’s hamper and crawls back up to lay by him. Harry doesn’t say anything, and Zayn doesn’t expect him to; he can’t find the words to describe everything he’s feeling either. Harry’s looking at Zayn how Zayn always thinks about him, though, with a certain amount of wonder and overwhelming joy.

 

               The next day Zayn says his goodbyes and thanks Anne and Robin for being so kind to him and allowing him to stay at their house.

               “Of course,” Anne replies, hugging him. “You’re welcome back whenever you want. It was lovely having you here.”

               Zayn thanks her again and wishes them happy holidays as Harry grabs his bags and helps him out to the car.

               When they finishing checking Zayn’s suitcases, Harry starts to walk especially slowly, and Zayn notices he hasn’t stopped chewing on his lip since they got out of the car. Zayn sees the security point around the corner, and he knows Harry won’t be able to go through with him, so he stops walking and places his duffle bag on the floor, turning towards Harry.

               He envelops him a tight hug, and Harry holds on fervently, burrowing his head into Zayn’s neck.

               “I’m gonna miss you a lot,” he mumbles into the fabric of Zayn’s coat.

               “I’m gonna miss you, too. But it’ll be fine. It’s only a few weeks.” He rubs his hand along Harry’s back over the thick texture of his sweater. “You can always text me. And I’ll have Skype. It’ll be fine,” Zayn repeats again, mostly for himself.

               Harry nods against his neck and steps back, and Zayn’s thankful because the more he was holding onto Harry, the harder it was thinking he’d have to eventually let go.

               “Have a safe flight. I love you,” Harry says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

               “I love you, too,” Zayn replies. “Take it easy.” He leans in for one last quick peck on the lips, trying not to prolong the process of saying goodbye. He picks up his carry-on and turns around, heading for the security checkpoint.

               “Zayn!” Harry calls out after him. Zayn turns around and looks at Harry expectantly. “What kind of bagel can fly?” Zayn huffs out a laugh and shrugs his shoulders. “A plain bagel!”

Zayn shakes his head, looking down at the linoleum floor. “You’re an idiot,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, and Harry tilts his head, a wide grin on his face, seemingly delighted with himself.

              

               When Zayn gets on the plane, he finds his seat and sets his small bag by his feet. He pays close attention when the flight attendant explains the emergency instructions and is sure to look to either side of him to find the escape doors. It’s only his second time flying, and he feels his palms growing sweaty as he holds onto the narrow chair’s armrest. As soon as the light comes on to fasten his seatbelt, he does and takes his iPod out of his bag.

               He scrolls until he finds the playlists Harry put uploaded last night: one for the flight’s take off to distract him and two for the plane ride itself.

               He presses play for the first one and immediately R- Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly,” flows through his earbuds. Zayn lets out a surprised bark of laughter that he rushes to stifle in the sleeve of his jacket. The elderly woman seated next to him gives him a strange look, but when Zayn smiles at her, her expressions changes, turning into a soft grin as well. Zayn can’t stop giggling to himself as the song goes on, suppressed laughter escaping from his throat as his shoulders shake.

               Next, “I’m Like a Bird,” by Nelly Furtado comes on, and Zayn recalls Harry doing a dramatic interpretive dance to it in his dorm room. The smile on his face fades slightly when he feels the plane start to take off, but he concentrates on the memory, Harry hopping around with his arms twirling around him, and before Zayn knows it the plane’s evened out, and he’s flying. He’d managed to get a flight without any stops, so during the nearly ten hour trip, he tries to take as long of a nap as possible to pass the time.

When Zayn wakes up the sky looks like an orange creamsicle, various shades of peach swirled with clouds. He blinks his eyes and raises his arms in the confined space, stretching out his back. He hears a melody playing and realizes that his iPod is still shuffling through Harry’s playlists. The piano in the song is relaxing, and he looks down to the see that the second group of songs is about halfway through with “The Scientist” by Coldplay currently playing.

               He takes out his notebook and a sharpie from his bag and doodles for a while, keeping his mind calm. He thinks about his family and how lucky he is to have people waiting for him back home, to know that they’ve all prayed for him to have a safe flight. He pictures them all sitting around the dinner table making jokes and talking about the little parts of their day, and he can’t wait to be back. He thinks how different from Harry he is in that way. Harry spends nearly all year away from home, choosing not to drive back on the occasional weekend like Liam and Louis do and spending most of his summers elsewhere, content to take road trips with friends or by himself.

               At first Zayn didn’t understand it, how Harry could stand to be away from the people he loves nearly all the time; he thought maybe Harry didn’t really care at all. Zayn knows better now, though. He understands that Harry needs that time away, to be able to do whatever he wants and explore everything he’s interested in on his own time and in his own way or he grows restless.

              Zayn’s not sure how that translates to their relationship. He knows that before him, Harry was flighty, never letting his flings last longer than a couple months, whereas Zayn’s only had one relationship before, and it lasted nearly two years. Zayn sees that pattern of constant change in everything Harry does, from the way he dresses to his need to meet and talk to everyone. An inkling of doubt he’s felt before itches the back of Zayn’s brain- the one that makes him wonder if Harry will eventually get bored or need more space than Zayn’s willing to give him. It makes Zayn’s head and chest hurt to think about, so he doesn’t let himself dwell on it, instead choosing to visualize the welcome home he has coming when the plane finally touches ground.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn nuzzles his cheek against Harry’s back for a few moments, soaking in the comfortable warmth shared between them as they lay underneath rumpled sheets and blankets. By some miracle Zayn has woken up before Harry, and Zayn takes it as a hopeful sign that the rest of the day will go without any hiccups in his plans as well.

               When Zayn gets home, he takes a long nap, and when he wakes up, it’s to the smell of his mom’s cooking, warm spices floating from the kitchen to his room. He smiles into his pillow at the familiarity of it before getting up and shuffling over to the kitchen. Charlie, their new pitbull follows along after him excitedly, wagging his tail. They had only gotten him the summer before Zayn left, and he’d been so small. In the time Zayn had been gone he’d already grown so much, and the visible difference had shocked Zayn, like he’d forgotten things were still changing at home while he was away.

               His mom is standing over the stove stirring a simmering pot while several plates piled with food are already on the table. Waliyha and Safaa are sitting on the couch, playing on their phones and watching TV. He ruffles their hair as he walks by, and they both slap at his hands, complaining. At the disturbance his mom looks up.

               “Oh, you’re finally up sweetie. Have a good nap?”

               Zayn nods his head. “Yeah, it’s a little weird, though, with the time change and all. Woke up expecting it to be tomorrow.”

               “Well, hopefully it hasn’t spoiled your appetite because I’ve been cooking since you got back.”

               “I don’t even think that’s possible.” He sits down at the breakfast bar and picks a samosa up from one of the plates. It’s still hot, so he hisses quietly, tossing it between his hands a few times before taking a bite. It tastes delicious and a deep thread of nostalgia runs through him. “Where’s Dad?”

               “Oh he had to go back to the restaurant as soon as you got home. Your uncle and the boys are on a little family vacation at the moment in San Diego. They’ll be back in a few days in time for Christmas, though, don’t worry.”

               Zayn’s family had only started celebrating Christmas when Safaa was six and came home from school begging their mom and dad to put up a Christmas tree like all the other kids had, not wanting to miss out on the festivities. She pestered them for days, and after much debate, their parents decided they would celebrate the holiday, but keep it to a minimum, each child only receiving one present. Much like Thanksgiving, they use the holiday to show their love for one another and give thanks for all the blessings in their lives.

               “Also, Zac called from the shop, he wanted to know if you could work a couple shifts while you were at home.” She takes the pot off the stove and ladles out the soup into a bowl, placing it in front of him. “I already told him you could. But I thought maybe you’d want to call him yourself.”

               She smiles at him, and Zayn laughs. “Will do. Can’t imagine he’d be selling a lot of boards in winter, though.”

               “He started selling snow gear to make up for the seasonal drop, so he might have to update you on a few things. I’m not sure… Don’t really know how those things work.”

               Zayn picks up the spoon his mom set down for him and eats quietly, savoring the taste. During the last few weeks at school he really thought he was going to go crazy eating the same bland food all the time, and though the Styles’ know how to cook, it was nothing in comparison to his mom’s cooking, to what he grew up with.

               “So, you haven’t told me yet, how’d your stay at Anne’s house go?”

               A shy smile crosses Zayn’s face. “Really good. Yeah, his mom and sister are really nice. I hear you and Anne get along well.”

               She nods her head. “She’s such a nice woman, you know. Harry, too, from what she told me. Definitely strange, though.”  She looks over to Zayn with a smirk, placing more food on his plate. “Seems like a good fit, you two.”

               Zayn feels a rush of warmth spread through his chest, and he smiles, looking down into his bowl of soup to hide the flush in his cheeks and stirring it around mindlessly. Zayn likes to think that for the most part, he doesn’t let others opinions effect what he chooses to do with his life or time- even when it was difficult in school as a kid the teasing never pushed him away from wanting to express himself in the ways he saw fit. His mom’s opinion means everything, though. He’s always gone to her for advice on everything, and hearing her approve of Harry brings a reassurance and solidity to their relationship Zayn hadn’t realized was missing, but needed nonetheless.

 

 

              The few weeks Zayn has at home pass by quickly between working shifts at the shop and soaking up all the time he has with his family. He manages to text and Facetime Harry over his phone whenever he has a spare moment, but it’s difficult with the time difference. Zayn had hoped they could Skype, so he could see Harry’s face on a screen bigger than a few inches, but the day after he got home, when he finally got around to unpacking his suitcase, he realized his laptop had been damaged during its’ travels. He had contacted the airline company in order to get it replaced, but they said it would take a couple of weeks to be refunded for the damage. When Zayn tells Harry this, Harry frowns, sticking his bottom lip out.

              “Boo. I was planning on hot Skype sex. How am I gonna make it through this now?” Zayn laughs, glad he has his earphones plugged in. Harry gives him a look of mocked seriousness and offense. “Don’t laugh at me, Zayn. This is a travesty.”

              Zayn shrugs his shoulders, though it doesn’t quite make the camera’s frame. “You’ll just have to wait for another day, Styles.”

              Harry gives a dissatisfied grunt and blows air out of pursed lips so it hits the curl that’s fallen over his face. “Anyway, how’re you doing? Anything exciting happen at the store?”

              “I’m good. It’s chill. Same old, same old over here.” Zayn runs his hand over the scruff on his face. “I like it of course. Like I said before it’s nice to come back to such a familiar routine after so much change... Even the smells, you know? Like smelling the ocean again and the restaurant…” Zayn doesn’t want to get mushy, so he doesn’t tell Harry that he’s been missing the way he smells, too- the warm, musky cinnamon he always catches when he leans into his neck and minty lip balm that leaves his lips tingling.

              “I did sell my first snowboard at the shop, so that’s mildly riveting.”

              Harry gives him a loud yell, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s brilliant!”

              Sometimes Zayn thinks that in Harry’s own mind, his ideal job would be to just follow Zayn around everywhere clapping and giving encouraging shouts whenever he’s done something remotely well. Besides Niall he’s the most enthusiastic person Zayn knows.

              “And how are you? Still chilling with Nick?” The day after Christmas Harry had packed up a bag and headed off to stay with friends, hopping from couch to couch.

              “Yeah, actually. He has some really cool mates and knows lots of places to go… so it’s been fun.”

              Harry brushes his hand against his hair before realizing he has it pulled back. Lately he’s taken to wearing scarves as headbands to keep it out of his face, and Zayn guesses he hasn’t gotten out of the hair shaking habit yet. When Zayn had first seen him wear one, during a conversation of theirs over the phone, he’d felt strangely and disproportionately shocked, thinking he’d only been gone a week and already Harry had changed something about himself. Zayn had quickly admonished himself, recognizing his silliness, and turned his thoughts instead to whether Harry would let Zayn shrug it off when they’re alone, so he could still run his fingers through the soft strands.

              “Well I’m glad you’re having a good time. You’ll have to give me all the ridiculous details when we get back to school.”

              “Yeah, yeah,” Harry replies, but his face suddenly looks solemn. He pulls at his bottom lip with his fingers. “Been missing you a lot.”

              Zayn feels a tug in his chest and bites down on his lip. “Miss you, too.” He never thought after only two weeks he’d be missing Harry this badly. He’s still enjoying his time at home immensely, but he finds himself wishing Harry was there next to him. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing it reminds him of Harry- something he’d think is funny or a view he’d want to take a picture of, little moments he knows Harry would want to experience as well. “Only a week more, though.”

              Harry grins. “And then it’ll be your birthday! I already talked to Niall, and he’s informed me that he’s planning the party. Which, from personal experience, will mean eating greasy food, singing awful karaoke, and getting absolutely pissed. Though not necessarily in that exact order.”

              “Sounds fantastic. I expected nothing less.”

              In the background Zayn can hear a voice he assumes is Nick's call out, “Oi! Harry! We were supposed to leave half an hour ago, mate. You coming out or not?”

              “Sounds like you’ve got to go.” Zayn almost wants him to say no, to stay talking to him for hours like they normally do. He knows it wouldn’t help though, that at the end of the conversation he’d hang up and find himself wanting to call Harry right back again.

              “Yeah. I’ll text you later, okay?”

              Zayn smiles, and waves at the screen in front of him. “Okay. Talk to you in a bit, babe.”

              Harry points to the camera making a cheesy thumb gun, a wide grin on his face. “See you in a bit!”

 

          A week later as he boards the plane, Zayn feels excitement bubbling in his chest. Even as he said goodbye to his family, his mom shedding more than a few tears, he’d felt it fizzing in his skin underneath the bittersweet reality of coming back to Harry, but also having to leave his family again and launch himself into another semester of college.

          During the flight he feels antsy, and he tries to call himself down, but it’s to no avail. He decides to look through his phone instead, flipping through all the pictures he’d acquired during the break. There’re lots of his family standing by their Christmas tree, everyone huddled together under the bright lights. He also comes across silly pictures Safaa had taken of herself and Waliyha when she’d stolen his phone, pulling weird faces from the most awkward angles, and they make him grin. Next on the camera are videos of him, Ant and Danny, after Christmas when they’d had time to themselves and decided on a whim to reenact a few of the videos from their favorite rappers. They’re absolutely awful and embarrassing, and Zayn’s thankful he got to spend time with them again.

          Last on the camera roll, is a video Harry had sent him from a night out with Nick. Harry had apparently gotten substantially drunk, and in the video he’s cuddling up to an older woman at the bar and more importantly, acting like a cat. He’d gone full out, making paws with his hands and nuzzling into the woman’s neck, making little noises. Zayn admits he had been a bit jealous at that, but Harry was so cute he couldn’t manage to be upset for long. Half way through the video, Harry perks up suddenly, looking at the woman with wide eyes exclaiming something about “the cutest cat video”, and he gets up from his seat and starts to do a dance in the middle of the pub, singing in a high-pitched, mewling voice. It’s one of the funniest things Zayn has ever seen.

           He watches the video a few times, as well as one he has saved from earlier in the school year, after he and Harry had just gotten back together. Zayn wishes he had more, but Harry’s always been a much better documenter than him. He’s always snapping pictures: when they’re lying in bed together or sometimes of just Zayn when they’re walking around, doing nothing in particular.

          He tries to fall asleep, but he can’t seem to doze off, no matter how relaxing the music he plays is. He settles instead for watching the movie playing on the airplane, and plugs his headphones into the jack, tuning in about halfway though. It doesn’t matter though, because Zayn keeps getting distracted, his mind always wandering to Harry.

 

         Zayn hurries off the airplane as quickly as he can, having to stop himself from running place to place. Going through customs takes a ridiculous amount of time, the line moving distressingly slow, and Zayn can’t imagine that it took this long before. Finally when he makes it through, he heads to the baggage claim. He searches the crowd of people for Harry, standing on his tiptoes to see over people’s heads.

          When he spots Harry, he’s doing the same, his eyes landing on Zayn’s a moment after. Harry’s face breaks out into a grin so wide Zayn’s chest hurts from the rush of affection he feels just from looking at him, even from so far away. Harry waves his hand over his head, making sure Zayn’s seen him, and Zayn scurries over, slowing himself down to a sort of walking skip because he doesn’t want to make a scene.

          Harry on the other hand seems to have no qualms about such matters and races over, long legs flopping about. When Harry’s about halfway to him, Zayn realizes he’s heading directly in the trajectory of a large pillar that reaches from the ground to the ceiling. Harry seemingly doesn’t notice it, his eyes too focused on Zayn, so Zayn waves his arms about, trying to get Harry to stop or at least turn. He swings his arms motioning to the side, and Harry gives him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed, just as he slams into the pole.

          “Ow, fuck!” Harry exclaims as he falls to the ground, landing with a loud thud on his back. The woman standing next to him gives out a yelp of shock.

           Zayn’s body flinches in sympathy, and he jogs over, kneeling down beside Harry. “Are you alright?”

           Harry touches lightly over his forehead and winces. “Who puts a damn pole in the middle of an airport?”

           A sympathetic but amused smile crosses Zayn’s face. “I think those, uh, hold up the airport, Harry. Kinda essential to the structural integrity of the whole place.”

           “Zayn, please, I’m terribly injured. I may be disfigured for life. Now is not the time for sarcasm.”

           Zayn frowns down at him, holding his cheek. “I am honestly worried you might have a minor concussion. You banged into that pole really fucking hard.”

           Halfway through the last sentence he starts laughing, and Harry glares at him, but it quickly turns into a resigned smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

            “You absolutely _ate_ it,” Zayn giggles, shaking his head. He runs the tips of his fingers over Harry’s cheeks. “I am very glad to see you though.”

              Harry grins at that and reaches up to bring Zayn’s face down to his, pressing their lips together. A zap of electricity runs through Zayn, and he smiles into the kiss, hand tightening around the front of Harry’s sweater. Harry licks into his mouth, and tugs Zayn closer, but Zayn pulls back, murmuring against his lips, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

              Harry gives him a quick smirk before laying his head back against the floor, looking a bit dazed. “I missed you. A lot.”

              “Missed you, too, _kitten.”_

              Harry scoffs, exasperated. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

              “Never,” Zayn states.

              Harry lets out a defeated breath and shrugs his shoulder. “S’alright, I guess. Kinda like it.”

              Harry’s cheeks flush lightly. “Kind of?” Zayn questions, and the deepening rose on Harry’s cheeks is Zayn’s answer. “C’mon. Try to get up really slowly, okay? And if you can walk, we’ll go find someone that can give you an ice pack or something.”

              Zayn holds on to Harry’s hands as he lifts himself into a sitting position, allowing himself time to adjust before getting to his feet. When he gets up Harry swings his arm around Zayn’s shoulders and lets nearly all his weight rest on him, and although Zayn thinks it’s probably unnecessary, he doesn’t mind.

              Harry relaxes his head into Zayn’s neck, careful to avoid the tender area on his forehead, and sighs. “I’m so happy you’re back, Zayn.”

             Zayn brings his hand to Harry’s chest, rubbing just under his collarbone. “Somebody has to keep you safe, right?”

 

            Zayn nuzzles his cheek against Harry’s back for a few moments, soaking in the comfortable warmth shared between them as they lay underneath rumpled sheets and blankets. By some miracle Zayn has woken up before Harry, and Zayn takes it as a hopeful sign that the rest of the day will go without any hiccups in his plans as well.

       He looks up to Harry and sees a mass of wild hair spread messily against his pillow, his bright pink mouth open with a little drool trailing out onto his pillow. Zayn smiles, and his heart feels light as he kisses between Harry’s shoulder blades.  He plants soft kisses along Harry’s spine, down the dip in his back. He hears Harry sigh gently, and Zayn grins again to himself. These days he finds himself doing that a lot, so often that he’s not sure he really ever stops. Zayn moves back up Harry’s body, following the line in his back with brushes of his nose and lips. He rubs his palms over Harry’s shoulders, massaging down his upper arms. He kisses the back of Harry’s neck, right underneath where the ends of his hair fall. The moment is so perfectly relaxed and warm that he almost regrets having to end it- but he has plans.        

       

        Zayn places an open mouthed kiss just below Harry’s ear and ghosts over the shell of Harry’s ear with his nose. “Come on, kitten. It’s time to get up.”

        Harry grunts in protest, but Zayn reaches over grabbing Harry’s side and arm and rolls him over. Harry flops back onto the bed, limbs lazy and pliant as he stubbornly refuses to open his eyes and meet the day. Harry’s eyebrows are drawn together, and his lips have formed a pout; he looks like a cartoon character with his hair flopped messily on his head and his limbs sprawled out. Zayn kisses over his face: his still closed eyes, cheeks, chin, and nose. A smile begins to grow across Harry’s face, and Zayn gets lost again, as he usually does with Harry, forgetting that time is still passing outside of the little world between them. Zayn quickly reminds himself again that he has plans today, and Harry needs to be awake and chipper for all of them.

           Zayn runs his hands over Harry’s cheeks and through his hair. “You gotta get up, Harry. It’s time to get ready for your birthday.”

      At that Harry opens one eye, looking up at Zayn sleepily with a lopsided grin, left dimple showing. He wraps his arms around Zayn firmly, bringing him tight against his chest. “It is my birthday, huh?”

      Zayn nods with a smile of his own. “Mhmm. And you know what comes first on your birthday?” Harry responds with a questioning hum and quirked eyebrow. Zayn grins and places a quick kiss on Harry’s nose. “You.”

      Harry smiles widely, eyes crinkling, and raises his hands in the air sluggishly, giving a drawn out, “Yay,” voice still rough and groggy from sleep. “Birthday blow jobs!” Zayn laughs lightly, happy to see Harry so bright. Harry lifts his head up to press his lips against Zayn’s. “You’re the best, Zayn.”

       Zayn smirks and shifts out of Harry’s hold, already moving down his body. “I know.”

 

      “Alright now no peeking when I get out of the car, okay? No taking off the blindfold, no funny business. I don’t care if it is your birthday, Harry, I’ll bend you over this car and give you a slap.”

      Harry grins at him cheekily. “Promise?”

      Zayn shoves him in his seat, and Harry is momentarily thrown off, unable to see anything around him to gain his balance. He eventually recovers and goes back to bouncing excitedly in his seat, hands clasped together in his lap, like he’s been doing for the last fifteen or so minutes. Zayn undoes his seat belt, and gets out of the car, moving to Harry’s side to open his door and lead Harry out.

       “I’m gonna put something in your hand. Do NOT drop it. If you drop it, well, we’re basically fucked.” Zayn thinks that maybe he’s being a bit chastising, but he’s wound up tonight, nervous as to whether everything will go properly, and Harry’s accident prone. Harry holds his hands out eagerly, and Zayn places the ticket in his hands. Harry wraps his hands around the piece of paper tightly and starts wiggling his hips back and forth from excitement and energy. Zayn reaches up to the blindfold’s knot at the back of Harry’s head and begins untying it. “3…2…1…. Happy Birthday!”

        He watches Harry carefully as he takes in his surroundings, the bustling city streets and the large, neon signs that read, “Brixton O2 Academy THE 1975”. Harry looks to Zayn and then down to the ticket in his hand, confused.

       “This is us? This is where we’re going?”

       Zayn nods. He doesn’t think he could’ve gotten this wrong. All Harry’s been doing since the first single from their latest album came out is fawning over the lead singer and talking about how much he loves this band. “Yeah, do you-”

       Before Zayn can finish his sentence Harry launches himself at him, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck and jumping up and down.

       “How the…How did you even manage to get these tickets, Zayn? They sold out in, like, minutes!”

       Zayn thinks back to waiting with his laptop open in the early hours of his day off, the venue’s page pulled up and his debit card out, ready to buy the best seats he could manage.

       He looks at Harry and shrugs. “Lost a few hours of sleep, but it was well worth it.” Harry looks at him incredulously, his wide eyes sparkling. “So you like it, then? It’s a good birthday present?”

       Harry hugs him tighter. “The best birthday present ever! The best _birthday_ ever!”

      Harry raises his hands in the air, letting out a yell of excitement, and proceeds to do a strange dance in the parking lot that involves a lot of snapping, finger pointing, and body rolls. Zayn laughs as he watches Harry get tangled up by his own limbs, pigeon feet tripping over each other.

               They listen to the opening band, and though it’s not Zayn’s cup of tea, Harry seems to be enjoying them, swaying back and forth easily where Zayn has his hands on Harry’s hips. After the band finishes their set and the house lights dim again, synthesized music and different colored lights start flashing in all directions, and Harry grabs onto Zayn’s hand and squeezes it tightly in anticipation.

              The 1975 walk out onto the stage, and Harry shouts loudly, arms in the air, and Zayn beams. Even though he’s never been a huge fan, Zayn enjoys the show, feeding off of the crowd’s energy and watching Harry dance and sing along. During one of their slower songs Zayn leans into Harry, chest against his back and raising his voice to be heard over the crowd, says into his ear, “Happy Birthday, Harry. I love you.”

             Harry looks back over his shoulder and grins. His skin is sweaty from jumping around, hair messy, and he looks electric, so much energy and happiness running through him. “I love you, too, Zayn.”

             He lifts his hand to Zayn’s face and brings their lips together in a firm kiss, brushing his tongue again Zayn’s lip and quickly licking into his mouth. In the background Zayn can hear a couple people around them let out a few shouts of encouragement, and Zayn knows normally he would be embarrassed, but he doesn’t feel any of that now, no hesitation or doubt. He only feels this is buzzing excitement between him and Harry that both thrills and comforts him.

 

             Later that night Harry collapses onto Zayn’s bed with a smile of disbelief. “That. Was. Sick. I can’t believe I’ve actually seen them, now. LIVE. Remember George when they played ‘Heart Out’? Wicked. And Matty during ‘Me’? I was close to tears. Honestly.” He turns his head to look at Zayn who’s still taking off his jacket and shoes, discarding them in a pile near the bed. “I’m exhausted. That was the best thing ever, Zayn. Thank you so much.”

             “I’m glad you had such a good time, babe.” Anxious energy starts to spread through his chest as he thinks about what he’s going to say next, what he’s going to bring up. “I, um… I actually got you another present, though.”

            Harry looks at him confused. “Another one? Zayn, you didn’t have to do that.”

            Picking at the hem of his shirt Zayn continues, “Well, I mean, it could kind of be for both of us. If you wanted it to.” Zayn giggles nervously to himself, and Harry gives him a knowing smirk, raising an eyebrow.

            “What did you get for me, Malik?”

            Zayn laughs in earnest this time and reaches into his drawer for the package he’d wrapped up mumbling “Fuck it,” to himself.

             Harry sits up on the bed, and Zayn hands the present to him. He grabs it eagerly, taking off the bow and putting it on top of his head. “Decent wrapping job,” he comments, and Zayn knew he’d appreciate him going through the effort to get the shiny paper and ribbon.

            Harry tears open the package, crumpling up the scraps of paper in his hand and opening the box. “You got me a vibrator?”

             Zayn can feel his cheeks burn. “Um… yah? Seemed like a good idea at the time…” They’d explored a few different things together, mostly just Zayn getting rough with Harry: pulling his hair, smacking his ass, and holding Harry down. They’d never brought a toy, something besides their bodies, into bed, and Zayn’s not sure how Harry will react. “If you want I can take it ba-”

            “No!” Harry interrupts him. “I… like it.” He turns it over in his hands a couple times. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

              The vibrator’s a sparkly baby blue, and immediately when Zayn had seen it the first thing he’d thought was how pretty the color would look against Harry’s skin.

               “So… you want to keep it then?”

                Harry nods and motions his hand for Zayn to come forward. “Yeah, c’mon let’s try it out!”

                Zayn gives a squeak of surprise. He hadn’t thought this far ahead to be honest; he wouldn’t let himself, his mind not letting him get pass the embarrassment if Harry had said no. Now the situation is real, and Harry had said yes, and Zayn can already feel his skin getting hotter underneath his t-shirt and jeans.

               “Really? You’re sure? You don’t have to just because I want you to.”

               Harry gives him an impatient look. “Zayn. I assure you I really, really, _really_ want to. Now get your arse over here.”

               Zayn doesn’t need any more convincing, and he steps over to his bedside drawer and grabs the bottle of lube, hurrying back to toss it on the bed. Harry reaches up from where he’s sitting and pulls Zayn down on top of him, bringing them both back until Harry’s pressed against the bed. Harry presses his mouth to Zayn’s firmly, and Zayn holds onto him tighter, pushing the scarf off his head to card through the long curls with his fingers.

                He feels like he should say something, to let Harry know how important it is to him that Harry always manages to put him at ease and doesn’t let him get caught up in his self-doubt, never making him feel insecure about anything he wants to say or do.

               Zayn’s brain has gone a bit fuzzy though, with Harry’s lips against his and his hands roaming over his body, and all he manages to get out between kisses is, “Thanks for… not weird… yeah?”

               He feels Harry smile against his lips and wrap his arms around Zayn tighter. Zayn ducks his head to mouth at Harry’s neck and chest, and he wants to keep tasting, keep feeling Harry’s skin against his mouth, but his body is thrumming with energy, and he’s getting impatient. Luckily Harry seems to feel the same way, hurriedly rucking up Zayn’s shirt to take it off and toss it to the side.

              His fingers fumble with Zayn’s belt, undoing the buckle. Through rushed breaths and with a pointed tug at the leather Harry mumbles, “Remind me later to tell you of something else I’ve been wanting to try out.”

             Zayn feels a surge of heat flash through his body, and his stomach flips, arms giving out a little. Sudden images of Harry’s wrists tied together and the sharp sound of leather on skin fill his brain, and underneath his breath Zayn mutters, “Fuck.”

             Harry smirks up at him and lifts his head to bite at Zayn’s neck, getting the button and zipper on his jeans undone and pulling them down with his boxers. Zayn shifts his legs to shuck them off and kick them elsewhere. Harry sits up, holding onto Zayn’s hips as he straddles his lap. Zayn tugs at the bottom hem of his shirt and says against his mouth, “I’m always undressed first. It’s not fair,” but when Harry reaches down, stroking Zayn roughly, he gasps, and suddenly he has no more complaints.

            He takes off Harry’s shirt and presses him back onto the bed, moving down his body so he can take off his jeans and boxers. He runs his hands up Harry’s legs, biting and mouthing at the soft skin of his thighs, and Harry spreads his legs further apart with a sigh. Zayn looks up, and Harry’s watching him, hands threaded through his tousled hair. He gives Zayn a lopsided smile.

           Zayn smirks back, narrowing his eyes as he sucks a kiss to where Harry’s thigh and groin meet. Harry rolls his hips up to meet Zayn’s mouth, but Zayn pushes them back down, licking up the cut of his hip. He presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s stomach, tracing the lines his muscles make when his body tenses.

           Harry gives a gruff whine. “C’mon, Zayn.” Zayn looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes, and Harry gives him a small smile, mumbling, “Wanna get to my present.”

          Normally Zayn likes to draw it out more, kiss and lick and suck until Harry can’t stay still and is mumbling ‘Please, please, _please,_ ’ but Zayn himself is feeling antsy. He sits up and shuffles his hand around in the sheets for a moment before finding the bottle of lube, clicking open the cap, and slicking up his fingers. He traces his thumb around Harry’s hole, and Harry gives a satisfied groan high in his throat, shifting his hips down to try to get closer to Zayn. Zayn moves his hand back, and Harry grunts at him in annoyance but stops moving, laying still against the bed except for where his chest rises and falls.

          Zayn opens up Harry slowly, adding fingers and stretching him until Zayn has three inside of him, curling them forward to make Harry moan and tighten his grip on the bed sheets. He still hasn’t moved, but Zayn can tell it’s getting more difficult by the way his muscles are shifting and the way his cock is laying hot against his stomach, smearing precome every time his hips do manage to twitch.

        “I’m good, Zayn. I’m good.” Zayn crooks his fingers, pressing harder inside of Harry, and Harry gasps loudly, breathing out with a rough moan. He grinds his hips against Zayn’s desperately, but Zayn holds him down. “I don’t like you,” Harry says breathily. “I don’t like you at all.”

         Zayn smirks up at him, speeding up the pace of his fingers, and Harry lets out a strained whine, high in his throat. “Not at all?”

         Harry reaches down with his hand, to slap at Zayn, but the effort’s weak, and he doesn’t even make contact, too distracted. Zayn slides his fingers out, and Harry whines again, shifting his hips against the bed out of instinct. Zayn reaches to the side and grabs the vibrator, spreading lube over it for good measure, and turns back to Harry.

           Pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth he says, “Make sure to tell me if you want me to stop or do anything different, alright?”

           Harry looks up at him with a lazy grin and nods. “Promise.”

           Zayn brushes Harry’s hair out of his face, the tips of it still falling against his flushed cheeks, and is suddenly floored by how beautiful Harry is, how incredible he is, and all Zayn can do is stare at him. The moment snaps, and Zayn is brought back to the present, to Harry waiting underneath him.

            He shifts down Harry’s body, kneeling between his long legs, and Zayn brings one hand to rest on Harry’s hip, pressing the vibrator just barely into Harry, teasing it in and out of him so he can start to get used to it. He pushes the rest of it in slowly, stopping every once in a while and keeping the actual motion part of it off. He brings it in and out, and Harry starts to move against it, pushing hips and arching his back when it hits just right. Zayn loves watching him: the flex of his muscles, the curves of his body from his legs to his hips, chest to his neck, the way his face twists, eyes fluttering and mouth parted.

           Zayn decides to try switching on the vibrator to its’ first setting, but his hand slips, and he ends up accidentally turning it to the last.

          Harry cries out, shifting away from Zayn, and mumbles hastily, “Too much, too much.”

         “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Zayn mutters, cursing himself mentally and quickly turning the toy off.

          Above him he hears Harry giggling breathily. “ It’s alright. Just…a lot at once.”

          Zayn tries again, willing his fingers to cooperate, and this time they do as he clicks it onto the first setting, looking up to gauge Harry’s reaction. Harry hums, and Zayn feels a bit of relief run through him.

          “Better?” he checks.

          Harry hums again, nodding slightly. “S’much better. Feels really good.”

          Zayn’s always loved how Harry’s words start to slur a little bit when he’s turned on, how his accent gets thicker and raspier. He moves the vibrator out and back into him, and Harry’s mouth drops open for a moment before he closes it again to bite down on his bottom lip. Zayn leans forward over Harry to press his mouth to Harry’s neck, lingering wet kisses underneath his jaw and down the slope of his shoulder. He flicks it up to the next highest intensity, and Harry arches his back toward Zayn, moaning lowly and rutting his hips against Zayn’s stomach.

         Zayn keeps pulling and pressing the vibrator back into Harry, alternating between long and shallow strokes, and Harry gives small groans every time he pushes back in, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders when his legs start to shake. Zayn reaches with his other hand to wrap around Harry’s cock, precome wetting his fingers as he brushes over Harry’s tip with his thumb. Harry lets out a loud moan, eyes scrunching shut as he curses under his breath.

        Harry squeezes Zayn’s arm, blunt nails digging in as he looks up to Zayn with heavy eyes. “Wait, wait.”

        Zayn stops stroking him, and Harry shuts his eyes again, a small whine leaving his throat. “What’s wrong, babe?”

        “I…I want…” Harry ruts his hips against Zayn’s hand, feeling the vibrations still inside of him. “Fuck, it feels so good…”

        Zayn runs his free hand over Harry’s face, feeling the sheen on sweat of his cheeks and forehead. “What do you want, Harry?”

        He opens his eyes again, this time with a more concentrated look on his face and pats Zayn’s hip with his hand. “Turn around.”

        “What?” Zayn asks, confused.

        Between breathes Harry clarifies, “I wanna suck you off… at the same time. Please, turn around.”

         Zayn’s arms go weak again, and he has to take a moment to gather himself before turning around like Harry’s asked, hands on either side of his hips and knees on either side of his chest. Zayn hears himself mumble, “Holy shit,” but it sounds somewhere distant. It’s all his mind is screaming at him though, and when Harry closes his mouth around him, Zayn thinks he honestly might die, but he can’t think of a better way to go.

         He rocks his hips down, pushing himself deeper into Harry’s mouth, and Harry lets him, holding onto his hips but not putting any pressure with his hands. Zayn brings his hand back to the edge of the vibrator still on and buried inside of Harry and moves it in and out of him again. He tries to suck Harry off, too, but it’s a bit awkward with the way he’s moving, so he settles for stroking Harry and licking at his tip. He figures they can practice that later, practice that later _a lot_ , until their bodies have gone pliant and they can’t muster up the energy to even get out of bed, laying together for hours.

         Zayn pushes the vibrator in at a slightly different angle, and Harry gives a muffled high groan that echoes through Zayn’s body, hips bucking off the bed into Zayn’s hand. Zayn keeps twisting it in and then presses it deep into Harry, holding the toy there firmly while he turns it to the next highest setting.

        Harry pulls his mouth off of Zayn and with a surprised whine that racks his throat, coming suddenly over Zayn’s hand, some falling onto his cheek and in his hair. Zayn brushes it away and wipes his hand on the bed, turning off the vibrator and pulling it out of Harry slowly. He drops it on the bed, and when he turns around Harry is looking up at him with wide eyes, his mouth still wet and bruised red.

       He waves his hand for Zayn to come forward, pulling at his knees when Zayn straddles him, so he’s sitting on Harry’s chest. Harry opens his mouth again, and Zayn gets the point, pushing himself back into Harry’s mouth. It only takes a few thrusts, Harry’s lips tight around him, until Zayn’s coming in Harry’s mouth, knees almost buckling as his body bends over Harry.

      Zayn pulls out and shifts off of Harry’s chest, laying down on his side next to him. Harry immediately moves to bury his face in Zayn’s chest, keening softly into his skin. Zayn wraps his arms around him, one hand moving up to pet Harry’s hair as their legs tangle together. Even after his breath evens out, the tingling sensation doesn’t leave Zayn’s body, and Zayn can only assume the same for Harry by the way he smiles when he kisses his forehead.

      Voice groggy Harry mumbles, “This is the best birthday ever.”

     Zayn laughs lightly, and tips Harry’s head up so he can see his face, brushing their noses together. “Good then?” he asks, not because he’s doubting it, but because he just likes to hear Harry say it in his still rough, hazy voice.

     “Really good. Been thinking about that for a while actually… sucking you off while you’re fucking me, I mean.” Zayn’s stomach flip flops again, like he’s riding down the drop in a roller coaster, just from hearing Harry talk about it. “I always think about it when you put your fingers in my mouth. I like it. Makes me feel so full.”

      Harry’s saying it all so casually, but Zayn already feels a fresh pool of heat starting in his stomach. “Jesus, Harry.”

       Harry giggles at him. “I’m glad you like the idea, too.”

       His eyes begin to flutter close, and he cuddles back into Zayn, mouth and nose against the crook of his neck, small sleepy noises coming from him. Zayn smiles and traces his hands down the slope of his back whispering, “Happy Birthday, Harry.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last few days had for some reason been especially rough for Zayn, though. He hadn’t been able to manage to get through a day without feeling bogged down, his brain muddled with thoughts of missing Harry. His time in the shop seemed to drag on, and his boss had started to ask questions, concerned. The worst is at night when he doesn’t have work or crowds of people at the beach or the petty fights between his sisters to distract him. He just lays there in the dark with a deep ache in his chest, the damp heat floating through his window nothing like the warmth he’s really seeking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's done! Thanks to everyone who stayed with the story (even though I'm shit at updating on time), left a comment, or clicked the kudos button. Your encouragement means a lot! This is my first time every doing anything this, so I really appreciate it!
> 
> I'm also over at h0ney-maid.tumblr.com if you guys ever wanna talk there or give me prompt/AU ideas!

              Zayn places the basket on the grass underneath the shade of a large tree, trying not to drop the blanket Harry had given him to bring that’s tucked underneath his arm while simultaneously still holding onto Harry’s hand.

              “You know you could’ve carried something yourself,” Zayn comments, spreading the wide blanket carefully across the ground.

              Harry smiles and simply shrugs, not bothered and plops down onto the blanket, crossing his legs and opening the basket. It’d been Harry’s idea to have a picnic in the park- “It’s too nice a day not to be outside!”- and yet he’d still gotten Zayn to do all the work. Harry could probably convince Zayn to do anything. Harry’s right though. The snow has left, and spring’s made its way in; the days have been getting warmer and warmer, and Zayn thinks they both could use a day to soak up some sun free from school.

              Harry pulls out their lunches: fruit salad, sandwiches, and Harry’s favorite cupcakes that they’d bought from Mary’s Market just outside of the university. They talk idly over lunch about mundane topics like classes and the surprisingly nice weather. They never have this boring of conversations. Harry hasn’t made one weird comment, nothing that’s made Zayn laugh or question what’s going on in his head. Zayn notices that Harry seems distant; he doesn’t even finish all of his cupcake or giggle when Zayn rubs frosting on his nose and licks it off.

              When he’s done with his lunch, Harry lays back against the blanket, covering his face with his arm to block the sun. Zayn lays down beside him.

              “Hey, are you alright?”

              Harry nods, moving his arm up and down with the motion. “Yah, fine.”

              Zayn scoots closer to him, pressing his nose to Harry’s cheek. “Are you sure? You seem kinda off.”

              Harry lifts his arm and looks toward Zayn. “Yeah, I’m great!” He’s smiling, but it’s forced. Sometimes it’s hard to tell because he still has the wide smile, dimples and all, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and when Zayn notices he feels an uneasiness settle in his stomach.

              “You sure?”

              Harry shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine! Stop worrying so much.” He shifts over so his head is laying in Zayn’s lap, and Zayn decides to let it go, weaving his fingers through Harry’s hair as they sit in silence, watching the people around them.

              When looks down to him a little bit later, Harry seems far away, eyebrows pulled together in a somber gaze as he grips Zayn’s knee a little too tightly. Zayn’s come to learn that sometimes Harry gets into fleeting, funky moods for no apparent reason, and usually the best thing to do is try to cheer him up.  He leans over to his left, picks a bright blue flower from the little patch that’s growing, and places it in Harry’s hair.

               “I love you,” Zayn says.

               Harry turns to him, this time a genuine smile to his face, though Zayn can still see some hints of the melancholy from before. The flower stands out against Harry’s dark hair, petals matching the sky and the leaves and stem matching Harry’s eyes.

               “I love you, too,” Harry responds. He lifts his arm up to bring Zayn’s head down to his, giving him a lingering, soft kiss. “So much.”

 

               Zayn huffs as he falls against Harry on the bed, all his muscles lax as he tries to catch his breath. He snuggles against Harry’s chest and giggles into his neck for no other reason than the feeling of pure joy. He shifts his leg higher on Harry’s hip and feels their bare skin stick together slightly from sweat.

               Harry pats Zayn on the top of his head and mutters, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re not a great shag, Zayn.”

               Zayn laughs, and with a smirk he replies, “Believe me, they don’t.”

               Harry rolls his eyes and playfully shoves Zayn’s shoulder with his hand. “Ugh, can you not breathe into my neck? It’s so hot today.” Harry runs the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat that’s collected from both the day’s heat and their previous activities.

               “Please. This weather’s finally decent. I can actually go outside without losing circulation in my extremities. Can’t wait till I get back to California, though. The sun’s just not the same here.”

               Harry looks down and bites on his lower lip. There’s an edge to his voice when he answers softly, “It’s the same sun that’s in California…”

               Zayn lets out a short laugh. “Well, yah, duh. But it’s just not the _same_.” Harry keeps his eyes down with a look on his face that Zayn doesn’t recognize. “C’mon,” Zayn says brightly, and he nips at Harry’s neck and jaw. “Let’s go shower.”

              Harry gives him a half-hearted smile, so Zayn crawls off of him and takes his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

 

               Underneath the spray of the water, Zayn lathers up shampoo in his hands and spreads it through Harry’s hair, scratching and massaging at his scalp. Harry hums contentedly and leans his back into Zayn’s chest. Zayn pushes Harry’s hair up, working it into a Mohawk that sits lopsided on his head. Zayn giggles quietly, but when he looks around to Harry, there’s no smile on his face.

               Zayn steps in front of him and takes his chin between his index finger and thumb. The movement leaves a small trail a suds. “What’s wrong, babe?” Harry’s eyebrows draw together, and he bites on his lip, turning his head away from Zayn and out of his touch. Zayn tries to keep his voice soft. “Hey, don’t do that. What’s wrong?”

               “Nothing’s wrong.”

               Zayn lets out an annoyed huff. “Stop that. You’ve been off for, like, the last couple weeks. Tell me what’s going on, Harry. Please.”

              Harry had been confusing lately with his actions; he had been so off and on, hot and cold. Sometimes he would cling to Zayn, not letting him have a moment of his time without Harry involved. Eventually Zayn would push him away, explaining he needed _some_ time to himself, and Harry would pout, looking offended and stalk off. Then for the next few days he would completely ignore Zayn, canceling any plans they had and only sending short or even one word replies to his texts. It had become exhausting for Zayn to try to figure out how Harry was going to feel that day. Even more so it’s making Zayn feel vulnerable and worried; he doesn’t know if he can count on Harry’s affection toward him anymore. He doesn’t know what’s changed.

               Harry keeps his head down and mumbles, “I don’t wanna say it. It’s stupid.”

               Zayn reaches to turn off the water and puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry turns his face back toward Zayn. “I won’t think it’s stupid, Harry. You can always tell me anything.”

               Harry takes a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip harshly before letting it go. He looks sort of ridiculous with his deflated shampoo Mohawk and a trail of bubbles across his face, and Zayn would find it amusing if Harry didn’t look so upset.

               “Well, I mean, I know it’s dumb, but… I get kind of upset when you talk about going back to California. I know you’re excited, and I understand that, I do, and I’m so excited for you, but… it’s also like…” He trails off before looking at Zayn with wide eyes. “Are you gonna miss me? I mean you’ve never mentioned that part of it at all. You’ve not even said if we’re staying together…”

              Zayn’s stomach drops. “Whoa, Harry, of course we’re staying together. I mean you want to, right? It’s not like we’ve never spent time apart. We had Winter Break away from each other.”

               “That was three weeks Zayn. Think how hard that was. Summer’s nearly four _months._ I would understand if you wanted to-”

               “I don’t want to, Harry. I don’t. I know it’s a bit of a long time, but… it’s worth it to me. We’re worth it to me.” Zayn bites on his lip. “Are we worth it to you?”

                Harry nods his head eagerly. “Of course, of course.”

                Zayn lets out a breath of relief and hugs him, Harry burying his head into Zayn’s chest. “I’ve just been so confused, Zayn. Because we’ve only got a week left before you have to leave, and I wanted to spend all of it together, but you kept telling me to go away. And I thought… I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I got scared that that was your way of telling me we were done. I thought maybe I should spend some time away, so that I could get used to not having you there all the time- also because I hoped you'd realize how much you’re going to miss me- but that was awful, too.”

               Zayn holds onto Harry, tighter, tilting his chin up with his finger, so Harry can look at him. “How in the world could I not miss you?” Harry smiles up at him sheepishly, and Zayn gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry I haven’t, like, talked about it directly, but that’s only because I don’t want us to get sad. We have, like, a week of exams left, and then…I’m gonna leave for the whole summer. And believe me, as excited as I am to be going home… I’m so not excited to be leaving you here.” He slides his hands over to Harry’s neck, thumbs resting by the hinges of Harry’s jaw. “I’m going to miss you so much that I can’t stand to think about it most times. It makes me sick, and I just want this last week to be nothing but happiness. I’m sorry you didn’t know that and were worried. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier and make it clear.”

               Ever since the night he and Harry had spent talking to each other in Harry’s car under the glow of the parking lot lights, Zayn’s made it a priority to learn to communicate better- especially with Harry. He understands now that sometimes just physical actions aren’t good enough; Harry needs verbal affirmation in order to feel secure and loved, and even though Zayn trips and stumbles over his words, he pushes aside the awkwardness he feels because he knows it’s important to Harry. He still sometimes worries that what he says doesn’t make sense- that he’s not smooth or romantic enough because it doesn’t come so easily to him, but Harry’s always kind, always willing to wait while Zayn figures out what he’s trying to say and never asking for more than he can give.

               Harry presses his mouth against Zayn’s, and Zayn can tell by the curve of his lips that he’s smiling.

               “I’m gonna miss you, too, Zayn. Wish you could take me with you.”

               Zayn runs his hands through Harry’s hair which has now completely flopped over to one side. “With this head of hair, we might be able to smuggle you in as my dog.”

               “Hey,” Harry draws out.

               “I’ll put the top up in one of those little ponytails; it’ll be perfect.”

               Harry rests his head against Zayn’s chest, giving a thoughtful look. “I would look very cute…”

               Zayn laughs at the image in his mind of Harry with a ponytail on the top his head. “You always look cute. C’mon, let’s rinse you off.”

               Zayn turns the water back on, adjusting the temperature, and Harry obligingly moves back under the spray. He leans back, washing the suds from his hair as Zayn pours a dollop of body wash into his hands, working it up to a lather before running his hands over Harry, washing him clean.

Zayn bends down to wash his legs, and Harry asks, “Does this mean we’re finally gonna get to have really nasty sex over Skype?”

Zayn laughs, continuing onto his other leg. “I suppose so. Never done it before. I’d imagine it’s very awkward.”

Harry hums and shrugs. “I reckon I could get off to you in just about any situation.” Zayn stands back up, and Harry smirks at him. “Don’t worry. It’ll be good.”

Zayn wraps one arm around Harry’s waist and brings his other hand up to cradle Harry’s face. “With you, everything’s good.”

 

                Zayn sits on the floor of his dorm room, filled boxes ready to be shipped home and suitcases ready to be shuffled off to the airport. All the posters on his walls, his bed sheets, his stacks of notebooks and cases of pens, everything that had taken up space, that had made the room _his_ is packed up and ready to fly back home. Zayn- he’s not so ready.

                He had spent the day with Niall, treating him to lunch, kicking around a soccer ball, and doing whatever else he wanted. Zayn had wanted to treat him, to show Niall that he was going to miss him when he left and their friendship hadn’t taken a backseat. Niall had brought out Zayn’s confidence again, made him take chances, and he honestly doesn’t know what would have become of his first year in college without Niall. When Zayn told him as much, Niall had gotten a bit emotional, his eyes watering slightly. Zayn had tried to keep it casual, but Niall would have none of it, pulling him into a long, tight hug. Later when Zayn came back to the bare walls of his room, he’d felt a particularly strong feeling of loss at the realization that he wasn’t going to be seeing Niall everyday anymore, not his bright smile or raucous laughter. He wouldn’t being seeing any of the boys anymore, and in a rare moment, he feels sentimental.

                He has a box of mementos emptied out in front of him, and he’s taking his time to look at everything, reflecting on his first year abroad. He hadn’t purposefully meant to keep a box full of stuff; it had started sort of organically, with Harry’s notes.

                He reads over those now: the first ones he wrote that day in Psych, sloppily drawn cartoon turtles, nonsensical scribbles, the Hemmingway quote Harry had slipped into his coat pocket during the FIFA night. There’s newer ones now as well, most of them either poems Harry’s written for him, like the one from Thanksgiving, or pieces from other authors. There’s his ticket for the 1975 show and a copy of the picture they had taken in front of Tate Modern. He has lots of photos of them, courtesy of Harry who had finally dragged him to have some printed out. Outwardly, Zayn had complained at the time because Harry was interrupting one of his chill days, but on the inside he was secretly happy Harry was forcing him to go through the effort.

                Zayn reads and looks over everything and lets himself be sappy and nostalgic, remembering every moment with Harry he has attached to each of these items. He thinks about how much he’s grown over the last school year, learning more about himself and having a better time than he ever could have imagined and hoped for.

                Tucked away along with the items that remind him of Harry are things that make him think of all the boys: Louis, Liam, and especially Niall.

                Niall had made Zayn copies of the photos Louis had taken at the art show, and when Zayn looks at them he can almost feel how his heart had been beating erratically in his chest from nerves. There’s also pictures of Zayn holding a thumbs up with a plate of food when Niall had kept his promise and taken Zayn to Nandos for the first time. Next to the pictures are drawings he and Louis had sloppily scribbled onto napkins of superheroes they had come up with one day while they were smoking on his couch, laughing as Louis’ ideas got more and more ridiculous. Underneath those is a small card Liam had written him the day he took him out to lunch because he “never gave a formal apology for his actions at the party”, and it makes Zayn smile because that’s just so _Liam._

                Zayn looks down to his phone and sees that if he doesn’t leave now, he won’t be able to actually say goodbye to them all in person. He shakes his head at the irony and tucks everything back into the small box, closing the lid and carefully tucking it into his carryon.

 

                Zayn wraps his arms around Harry as tightly as he can, nuzzling into his neck, and Harry mirrors the motion, dampening the background noise of the airport

                Harry speaks, and it’s so muffled Zayn almost doesn’t understand it. “I don’t want you to go.”

                “Me either,” Zayn replies, cuddling into Harry impossibly closer.

                “Just stay. You can catch another flight later.”

                For a moment, Zayn considers it- he really does- anything to get this awful, sick feeling out of his chest and stomach that’s making his eyes water. Harry had practically moved into his dorm second semester, even taking up a drawer in Zayn’s room; they’d hardly spent a night apart. Zayn’s become so comfortable with it, Harry and he always falling asleep wrapped around each other; he’s not sure how he’s he going to get along without him. He has to though, and he knows staying any longer would only be fighting off the inevitable. “Wish I could, but I’ve got to go.”

                Harry sniffles, and Zayn can feel him nod into his shoulder. Harry takes a couple steps back, wipes at his face, and reaches into the messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

                “I got you a couple things, for your flight I mean. To make it go easier.”

                He pulls out a bag, and Zayn takes it from him with a small smile. He looks inside and there’s a couple books, one that’s nonfiction about sea animals and has colorful photos on every page and another that seems to be science fiction by the spacecraft on the front. Beside those are snacks: baggies of Goldfish and granola bars. Zayn feels his heart flutter, and it’s so stupid, but it’s the littlest details Harry remembers that cause him to be stupidly emotional. Harry’s not afraid to make a scene, will say the cheesiest lines with no hesitancy, write poetry about his eyes, but what really gets to Zayn are the little things Harry does that make them fit seamlessly together. Like remembering to put the ketchup on the side when they order fries because Zayn hates it, or knowing to set the alarm an extra twenty minutes early because Zayn likes to wake up slowly. Everything feels so comfortable and natural, like they’re meant to coincide.

                “Have a safe drive home, okay?” Zayn asks, rubbing his thumb over the side of Harry’s neck. “Text me when you get there. I’ll see it when I get off the plane.”

                Harry nods. “Call me when you land. No matter the time.”

                Zayn presses his lips to Harry. It’s tender, but not soft, and it reminds Zayn of the night before, his hands tracing and gripping onto Harry as they fell apart and together, trying to touch and feel and taste and remember every last bit of each other, hands and legs shaking. He takes his arms from around Harry’s neck and intertwines their fingers. A few days before Zayn had given Harry one of his rings to wear, and Zayn rubs the pad of his finger over it now. “I love you, Harry. I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

                “I love you too, Zayn,” Harry replies, voice breaking on his name. “See you soon.”

                Zayn gives him a quick kiss and turns around, heading for his flight. He only makes it a few steps, however, before his resolve crumbles, and he turns back around. He kisses Harry again, running his hands through his hair and licking into his mouth, and there’s nowhere else Zayn wants to be.

                Harry pulls away with a flustered breath and mumbles, “You’re gonna be late for your flight.”

                Zayn gives an exasperated groan, wrapping his arms around Harry and burrowing his head into his neck. “I don’t care… I’ll stay here until you tell me to leave.” 

                “You’ll never get home that way, Malik.” Harry brings Zayn’s face up, hand cradling his cheek. “C’mon, Zayn. You’re gonna miss your plane.” He points a finger at Zayn giving him a serious look. “And your mother would be very upset about that.”

                Zayn gives a bittersweet laugh, brushing his nose against the line of Harry’s collarbone. “You’re very right.”

                “I am usually am,” Harry replies with a haughty sigh.

                Zayn shakes his head, pulling away from Harry reluctantly. “You’re full of shit.”

                Harry grins at him.

                “Alright,” Zayn continues, taking a step back “I’m really leaving now.”

                Harry nods his head affirmatively like a soldier and waves after him calling, “Have a safe flight! Tell everyone I say hi!”

                Zayn looks over his shoulder, and he feels his gait stutter for a moment, feet hesitating to move forward, but he keeps going, shouting back with his hand in a hang loose sign, “Take it easy!”

 

 

                When the flight attendant gives the okay, Zayn puts down the tray in front of him and takes out the sea life book Harry had given him. He flips to the front page, and in true Harry fashion, a folded piece of paper is lying there, Zayn’s name scrawled across the top. Zayn opens it and reads:

 _i carry your heart with me(i carry it in_  
              my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
              i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
              by only me is your doing,my darling)

 _i fear_  
               no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
               no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
               and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
               and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 _here is the deepest secret nobody knows_  
               (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
               and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
               higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
               and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

_i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)_

_-e.e. cummings_

               Zayn takes a deep breath, feeling his heart expand in his chest, and leans his head against his seat, looking out the window. He never thought he’d feel this close to anyone. If someone had told him ten months ago that this is what his life was going to be like at this point, nothing could have made him believe it was the truth. His previous relationship had lasted over twice as long, and he’d never managed to feel this relaxed in it, to get to the point where it wasn’t a pain to be open and share his feelings. He had honestly started to lose hope in the idea that this was even a possibility for him, that maybe he was just too quiet, too closed off of a person.

               Zayn flips through the rest of the book and sees that Harry’s taken the liberty of putting sticky notes by the animals, giving them funny captions or speech bubbles. Zayn giggles to himself as he reads them over, sometimes rolling his eyes at how absolutely awful they are. He would never tell Harry, but those are usually his favorites. Zayn imagines Harry in his room, scribbling down note after note and packing bags of snacks, and he feels his chest swell again, in the almost painful way it always does when he thinks about Harry and his endless kindness that’s allowed Zayn to open up in return- like his heart can hardly handle it, like it’s cracking and Harry along with Niall and all the other boys are filling the spaces back in to make room for his affection toward all of them.

 

                Zayn spends most of his days working at the shop, helping his mom and dad in the restaurant, or sitting on the shore, playing with the sand underneath his hands and relaxing in the sun’s rays. Sometimes he takes Charlie with him, holding onto his leash as he pulls Zayn along on his board. Lately it’s gotten too hot to go outside, though, the typical heat wave in July washing over the town so there’s a constant, sticky layer of sweat over Zayn’s tan skin. He takes to sitting inside, a fan directed towards him as he reads on his bed, Archie, his bearded dragon, perched on his shoulder.

                He also spends a good portion of his days missing Harry. Normally it’s nothing too agonizing, just an itch in the back of his brain that wishes Harry was there. He’s sort of a presence, Zayn almost feeling likes he’s beside him sometimes as he lounges around or takes in the warm rays of the sun. He’ll think of Harry, something funny he’s done, and a smile will stretch across his face, and it’s like he can feel Harry there tugging on the corners of Zayn’s mouth to make him grin.

                They stay in touch as much as possible, sending each other messages over Facebook and talking over Skype. (Harry had fulfilled his promise not too long after Zayn had gotten back on the whole sex over Skype matter. Zayn admits he had been unsure at first, but as soon as Harry had pulled out the birthday present Zayn had gotten him, shifting the camera to a better angle so Zayn could watch him use it on himself, all of his uneasiness had miraculously disappeared.) Harry had also started their new tradition of sending each other links to songs back and forth, sometimes in jest and sometimes to express more than what could be said through typed out messages and emoticons.

                The last few days had for some reason been especially rough for Zayn, though. He hadn’t been able to manage to get through a day without feeling bogged down, his brain muddled with thoughts of missing Harry. His time in the shop seemed to drag on, and his boss had started to ask questions, concerned. The worst is at night when he doesn’t have work or crowds of people at the beach or the petty fights between his sisters to distract him. He just lays there in the dark with a deep ache in his chest, the damp heat floating through his window nothing like the warmth he’s really seeking. He lays awake for hours, eyes stinging from exhaustion, but unable to rest. He messages Harry often then, sending him links to Incubus’ “Wish You Were Here” and “Amber” by 311 along with “Miss you”.

                Harry only responds a couple times, with short answers explaining, “Sorryyyy I’m really busy right now :((( I miss you too! Love you! x”.

                On the third day of his so called “funk”, he calls Ant and Danny and rides over to pick them up in his old jeep, and they drive to one of the smaller, more private beaches. They plant themselves down behind one of the rocks that juts out from the cliff, so they can smoke. After packing it, Ant hands Zayn his pipe and lighter, and it’s not too much longer before Zayn starts to feel a little bit better. He lays down on the beach, sand sticking to his arms and getting in his hair. He closes his eyes and after a few more hits his brain has slowed down from its usual insistent chatter to a dull thrum of _Harry, Harry, Harry._

                When he gets home a package is waiting for him on his bed. It’s a medium sized, square box, and when Zayn sees the postal stamp from “Great Britain” on it, he does a little dance with it in his arms, knowing it’s too soon for school to be sending him anything.

                He peels the tape off the seam and opens the box. Immediately on top is a letter, folded in half.

_Dear Zayn,_

_Hi! How are you doing? How’s your family? I hope exceedingly well. We talk nearly every day so I guess there’s not much to catch up on… but that’s not what this is for anyway. This is just because I miss you heaps, and I wanted to send a bit of me over to California for you to have. I love you so much. Hope you enjoy the sweets!_

_Yours,_

_Harry xxx_

_P.S. Here’s part of a poem by Pablo Neruda. I’ve been reading him a lot before I go to bed, and I always think of you._

_“Everything carries me to you,_

_as if everything that exists,_

_aromas, lights, metals,_

_were little boats, that sail_

_toward those isles of yours that wait for me.”_

Zayn reads the letter a couple times over, smiling to himself, before getting antsy and wanting to see what else is in the box. Underneath the letter is a CD case, and when Zayn turns it over in his hands, he can see a handmade playlist on the back written out with Harry’s typewriter. He scans over the artists and songs, recognizing some, but not most, and sets it on his dresser to upload to his laptop later. Next in the box are small boxes of chocolate candies that Zayn became more than slightly obsessed with while at Uni. Next to Goldfish they’d become his favorite snack.

               He’s about to dive into a box, but when his eyes glance back to the package he’s sees another envelope. This one is much too thick and the wrong size to hold a letter. He peels it open and inside are photos of Harry and him, and Zayn feels his chest start to tighten. He figures Harry must have developed them from his phone, because Zayn’s never seen these before. The first one is of them both making silly faces, laying on Zayn’s bed, huddled together underneath blankets. The second is a scene Zayn recognizes because he had taken the photo himself after stealing Harry’s phone-Harry just waking up, a groggy smile on his face, eyes still closed as he stretches out his arms. He flips through the rest, about thirty photos in all, laughing at the sillier ones and himself when he realizes he’s sniffling, blinking quickly to stop his eyes from watering.

               At the very bottom of the box, hidden underneath all of the chocolate and photos is a black shirt. Zayn immediately recognizes it as Harry’s. He picks it up, and the sheer material feels familiar in his hands. Without thinking about it, Zayn brings the shirt to his face and inhales deeply. It smells exactly like Harry, like it’s one of the shirts he’d decided to use to tie up and dry off his hair with after he’d gotten out of the shower. He smells warm cinnamon, too, and this time he can’t hold back the couple quiet and happy tears that fall from his eyes. He smiles into the fabric, and then takes off his tank top, throwing it to the side carelessly and putting Harry’s shirt on. It’s quite loose on Harry, so it’s huge on Zayn, billowing around his narrow torso.

               Zayn takes the envelope of pictures and lays down on his bed. He pulls the neckline of the shirt over his nose, smelling Harry as he flips through the photos again. He thinks this might be weird, that if someone were to walk in or know that it felt this good to have just this little bit of Harry, they’d call him obsessed or crazy, but Zayn honestly can’t bring himself to care. He feels better than he has in a while, the beating of his heart in his chest coming easier now.

               With his eyes closed, the soft fabric of the shirt pressed against his skin, and the smell Harry seemingly drifting around him, Zayn finds it easier to pretend that Harry is laying down beside him, and that night he falls asleep comforted, the shirt’s collar still tucked up over his chin and mouth, and his arm slung over one of his excess pillows.

 

            Through his sleep addled brain, Zayn distantly hears his mom calling to him from downstairs.

            “Get up! Someone’s at the door for you!”

            He drags himself out of bed, one limb at a time, knowing that if he doesn’t get moving now and his mom has to ask again, he’ll get a lecture for it later.

            He slumps down the hallway, grumbling. “It’s my day off, Mom…wanted to sleep in.”

            He runs his hand over his face and looks up to find the door closed. This is highly unusual. Normally their guest would already be half way to the kitchen, shoes off, as she hands them a cup of tea. He gives her a funny look, but she just shrugs, scurrying off quickly to another part of the house. If this is some kind of practical joke, like the one his family had played a couple of years ago on Halloween, he is going to be very annoyed.

            Zayn turns the handle, opening the door, and through his barely opened eyes sees Harry standing on his front steps.

            “You are aware that it’s past noon, right?”

            Zayn’s jaw drops, but no sound comes out as he stands there, body frozen in disbelief for a few moments. The ice breaks, and he surges forward, wrapping wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him into the tightest hug he can muster while burying his head into the crook of Harry’s shoulder. Zayn keeps holding on for an indeterminate amount of time, feeling Harry under the soft cotton of his shirt like he’d been longing for for so long. The familiar scent of earthy cinnamon rushes through him, and it’s even better than when he’d picked up the shirt because Harry’s here in front of him, solid under his hands. He clings to Harry tighter, fingers digging into the backs of his shoulders.

            “Can’t really breathe,” Harry says into Zayn’s neck.

            “Good,” Zayn mutters.

            “Yeah, it is good,” Harry replies, strengthening his grip on Zayn’s waist. After a while he asks, “So it was surprise, then?”

            “Fuck, yah,” Zayn says, a little out of breath. “I had no idea you were coming. Honestly.” Harry grins, proud of himself. “How did you manage it?”

            “Well, Robin has a lot of frequent flyer miles because of work and what not, and I asked if I could use some and he said yes! So I talked to your mum about it and-”

            Zayn pulls back a little to look at Harry’s face. “You talked to my mom?”

            Harry nods nonchalantly. “Oh yeah, been talking to her for a few weeks. Planning everything out y’know.”

            Zayn shakes his head, still spinning from shock. “Sneaky, sneaky…” he mumbles under his breath.

            “Yep. We were very clever, Malik,” Harry says with a cheeky smile. “Now help me carry my bags, please. Can’t believe you’ve kept me out here this long. So rude…”

            Zayn shoves Harry and picks up his duffle bag. It’s all he’s brought besides his messenger bag that’s hung on his shoulder. He walks into the house, and his mother is waiting just inside the door. She wraps Harry into a big hug of her own, kissing his cheek.

            “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person, Harry! How was your flight? Did you have any trouble?”

            Harry’s smiling widely, dimples indenting his cheeks, and it warms Zayn’s heart to see two people he cares for so deeply coming together. He’d felt so torn for the longest time, split between feeling homesick when he was away at school and missing Harry when he was back with his family; it feels like the two most important pieces of his life are finally being reconciled, and it’s a relief to not feel like he’s trying to stretch himself over an entire continent and ocean in order to feel close to them both.

            “Nope, no troubles at all Mrs. Malik. Thanks so much for helping me arrange everything.”

            “Oh you’re welcome, honey. I’m so happy it worked out. Let’s get you settled, yeah?” She motions Harry down the hall, Zayn with his bag following them to Doinya’s old room. His mom has redecorated it since, making it into the guest room, but Zayn still never thinks of it that way.

            Trisha continues, “Are you hungry at all? Can’t imagine the airplane food must have been very good.”

            “Thank you, but I’m alright. Think I just want to change.” Harry looks down looks down at his tight black jeans and plaid shirt with a small laugh. “Don’t think I’m properly dressed for this weather.”

            His mother laughs in kind. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

            She walks back down the hallway, and Zayn drops Harry’s bag on the bed. Harry walks toward him, resting his hands on Zayn’s hips.

            Harry's eyes soften as he runs his fingers along the hem, and in a small voice he says, "You're wearing my shirt."

            Zayn nods and runs his hands over Harry’s face, feeling his soft skin as he pulls him in for a kiss.

            A shiver runs through Zayn’s body when his lips touch Harry’s, and it reminds him of their first kiss back in his dorm room at Uni sans the rushed clacking of teeth- absolutely electric. A rush of heat flutters all over his body, and his arms automatically move to pull Harry closer. He runs his hands through Harry’s hair, and it’s gotten so much longer in the few months he’d been gone. Zayn wraps a curl around his finger and tugs on it teasingly, and he feels Harry smile against his mouth. Zayn pulls back, thumb brushing over Harry’s cheek as he gives him short, sweet kisses.

            “I missed you so much,” Harry mumbles against his mouth. “Can’t really explain how much.”

            “I know,” Zayn sighs back, pressing his mouth to Harry neck, feeling his pulse beat lightly against his lips before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I missed you, too.” He runs his hands over Harry, his arms and sides and back and chest, just loving that he’s _here._ With a soft voice he says,“You’re probably tired. You should get some sleep.”

            Harry dips his head to brush his nose against Zayn’s cheek and grumbles negatively. “No, let’s go do something. Let’s go somewhere.”

            Zayn tilts Harry’s head up, hand on his chin, and he can see Harry’s eyes already starting to droop from exhaustion. “You need to rest, babe. I’m gonna go get you a glass of water, and you get changed, alright?” Harry nods, conceding even with a small frown on his face. Zayn kisses it, and Harry smiles again, moving toward his duffle bag on the bed.

            Zayn chats with his mother for a little while in the kitchen while getting Harry’s glass of water, thanking her for everything, and by the time he gets back to the room, Harry’s asleep on the bed. A tank top is hanging off of his shoulders and a pair of jeans he must have cut into shorts sits low on his hips. He’s pulled the top of his hair back into a small bun, and Zayn smiles fondly. He sets the cup of water down on the nightstand and crawls onto the bed slowly to lay beside Harry. In his sleep Harry shuffles around a little, moving closer so his back is pressed against Zayn’s chest. Zayn settles his arm around Harry’s waist, his other hand coming up to play absently with Harry’s hair. He kisses the back of Harry’s neck, sweeping his lips across the smooth skin and whispering, “I love you.”

 

             Harry barges-literally- into Zayn’s room the next morning with a loud bang. He runs over to Zayn’s bed and hops onto it, jumping up and down, yelling, “Time to get up! Get up! Get up!”

             “I’m going to murder you, Harry,” Zayn grumbles as his head bounces up and down on his pillow as a result of Harry’s wake up call.

             Harry accidentally lands wrong, stepping on one of Zayn’s legs and he topples forward onto the bed as Zayn cries out. Harry’s crawls up until his face is nearly touching Zayn’s. He curls his shoulders forward sheepishly.

             “Sorry.”

             Zayn huffs out a breath, but when Harry kisses him he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

             “C’mon, Zayn, everyone else is already up! We have lots to do, and we’ll never get through it all if you keep sleeping in until two. Hah! That rhymed!” Harry gets up from the bed and smacks Zayn’s butt before moving out the door. Zayn scoffs, affronted. “I’ll meet you at the front door in twenty!” Harry calls back.

 

             It ends up being more like forty minutes because Zayn can only move so quickly in the mornings, and Harry insists they need a good breakfast to start the day correctly. He’s absolutely delighted to find that Zayn’s family has their own little garden growing in the back- fruits, vegetables, and herbs- and goes out to pick some fresh strawberries to add to their yogurt and cereal. As Zayn munches on his yogurt, his dad walks in, dressed for work. He asks Zayn what he has planned for the day, and Zayn says nothing much, that they’re just going to play it by ear. As Yaser walks out the door he wishes them a good time and says to be back home in time for dinner.

             When Zayn turns around Harry’s staring at him. “What?”

             “Nothing,” Harry responds. “I’ve just never heard you speak Urdu before.”

             Zayn’s brow furrows, and he shrugs his shoulders. The only time he ever really speaks it is around his house or when he’s with larger groups of people who speak it, too.

             “It’s cool,” Harry continues, “seeing you with your family. You’re so… relaxed.”

             “I’m relaxed around you,” Zayn retorts.

             “Yeah, but it’s different.” Harry finishes cutting the strawberries and hands Zayn his bowl. “I thought I knew, like, nearly everything about you. But just being here I’m learning a lot more.”

             With a light laugh Zayn adds, “That’s a good thing, I hope.”

             “Of course.” Harry grins and leans over the counter to kiss his nose. “I love it all.”

             They walk for a while around Zayn’s neighborhood, stopping to visit Ant and Danny before making their way toward downtown Santa Cruz. They go into every shop that catches Harry’s eye, which is nearly all of them, but Zayn doesn’t mind, holding Harry’s hand as he takes everything in. Zayn finds himself absently running his finger over the ring he gave Harry, and when Harry notices he looks back at Zayn with a bright smile.

             Harry takes pictures of everything and videotapes a couple of musicians they see on the street, one playing the didgeridoo and one playing something made out of spoons and buckets. He points out all the shop and street names he thinks are cute or funny, and when Zayn tells him there’s a road called Young Lovers Lane, he insists they go find it. As they stand underneath the sign and Harry politely asks a woman if she would mind taking a photo of them, Zayn thinks back to the time when he was younger and would pass the street sign often, wondering if he would ever have anyone to bring here, even though he thought it was cheesy. He stands next to Harry, smiling as the lady counts down from three, but at the last second Harry turns his head and kisses Zayn on the cheek. In the picture Zayn’s laughing, eyes scrunched up with Harry leaning into him, arms around Zayn’s waist.

              After they get tired of walking they eat lunch, and for dessert they go to Marianne’s to get ice cream- Zayn’s favorite. Harry has a field day trying flavor after flavor until deciding on one with mint and chocolate. Later when Zayn kisses him as they walk along the beach, he can still taste the sugary sweetness on his lips.

              When Zayn takes him to The Boardwalk he learns that Harry’s still afraid of rollercoasters, so Zayn tells him what his older sister had told him when he had been scared of rollercoasters, too- that they need to make the rides safe because otherwise people would sue them and the park would lose all their money. When they go on the Big Dipper, Harry squeezes his hand tightly as they climb higher and higher, and when the ride finally drops, Harry screams the entire time, high pitched, and Zayn can’t stop laughing. They get off the rollercoaster and go around to where they display the pictures taken during the ride. Then Harry’s laughing as well, his hair in the picture flying away to show starkly the look of terror on his face. They stick to the calmer rides after that, settling down on the beach when the sun starts to dip down below the horizon.

 

              The next week or so passes in much the same way, a kind of lazy bliss following them around wherever they go. They spend nearly every day at the beach, staying well after the sun has set and until they’re the only ones left. Those are Zayn’s favorite times, when they lay on a blanket all day in the sun, and later when it’s chilly and they wrap themselves up in it, Zayn can still smell the sunshine on Harry’s skin, can still taste it.

 

               “Alright, now just little pushes okay? Take your time, Harry.”

               Harry holds his arms out to his side, bending his wobbly knees as he scoots along on one of Zayn’s old boards. Zayn had picked the longest one, his beginning one, so Harry would have an easier time, but Harry’s swinging his arms side to side, trying to maintain his balance as he rides on the flat sidewalk in front of Zayn’s house. He pushes off harder, and the board goes flying out from underneath him. Harry lands hard on his back, and Zayn rushes over, kneeling down beside him.

               “You alright? I told you little pushes, Harry. Little!”

               Harry groans, rubbing his hand over his back. “I got bored. I want to go faster already.”

               “That’s not really how it works,” Zayn replies with an amused laugh. “Good thing we got you these then, yeah?”

               He points down to Harry’s elbow and knee pads and knocks lightly on the top of Harry’s helmet, which Harry had insisted Zayn decorate with doodles first before they started practicing.

               “Here, I have an idea. Sit on the board.”

                Harry looks at him confused, but does what he’s told. Zayn goes back in the house and gets Charlie and his leash. He brings them both out to Harry, and Harry immediately starts petting Charlie, cooing that he’s a good boy and asking how his day’s been so far.

                Zayn smiles and gives the handle of the leash to Harry, attaching the other end to Charlie. “Hold on really tightly, alright? One hand on the leash, one hand on the board. If you want to turn a little bit, just lean like I showed you, but… just try to stay going in a straight line, okay? And if you want to stop just tell him, and Charlie will.”

                “You’re sure he likes this? I’m not too big for him? He’s kind of a small dog…”

                Zayn laughs. “He’s a Pitbull, Harry, not a Chihuahua.”

                Harry smiles and adjusts himself excitedly on the board, wrapping the leash around his wrist, so he can get a good grip.

                “Ready?” Zayn asks. Harry nods eagerly. “Remember to hold on tight, okay? And don’t let him go too fast. And no big turns”

                Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, _Mum_. Now can we go?”

                Zayn looks down at Harry’s wide, excited eyes and Charlie wagging his tail, tongue out, and he doesn’t see that much of a difference. Zayn yells, “Run, Charlie!” and he takes off. Harry yells enthusiastically as they race down the street, wheels bumping along the concrete, and Zayn can hear him laughing raucously from blocks down.

                When it gets dark, they pile into Zayn’s jeep and head for a more secluded beach that’s a bit farther up the road. It’s already starting to get a bit colder right next to the ocean, the wind ruffling their clothes. Harry walks to the backseat of the car, leaning in to pick up the warmer change of clothes he keeps there. Zayn pushes his hips against Harry, teasing, but it becomes not so much of a joke when Harry presses back against him. Zayn lifts his hand to brush his fingers over where Harry’s shirt has ridden up. His skin is golden now, tinted from the sun, and Zayn leans forward to kiss along Harry’s neck and shoulders, hands running down his arms.

                Harry pushes back against him again, rolling against Zayn’s hips. Zayn sighs softly and bites lightly on the back of Harry’s shoulder. They haven’t had much time for this, for going at things slowly, mostly rushed jobs with their hands and mouths, what with his sisters and either of his parents usually at the house.

                A car whizzes past on the road behind them, and Harry looks over his shoulder to Zayn, a challenging, cheeky glint in his eye.

                “You gonna fuck me in your car?”

                Zayn laughs, pressing his mouth to Harry’s throat. Another car passes. He tilts his head down to bite harshly at where Harry’s neck and shoulder meet, and Harry takes in a sharp breath.

                “Don’t think I won’t,” Zayn murmurs against his skin.

                Harry turns his head, catching Zayn’s mouth with his own and running a hand though his hair. Two more cars zoom past. He pulls Zayn’s bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away and looking at Zayn with a smirk.

                “Might as well…”

                So Zayn does, turning Harry around and pushing him into the car, shutting the door behind him. He takes the time they never have, the time they didn’t have those months while they were apart, takes his time until Harry’s fingers are digging into the fabric of the backseat and Zayn’s body is buzzing and all he can feel is Harry. Cars continue passing by outside and their headlights momentarily illuminate the inside of the jeep, so Zayn sees Harry in flashes- the flush of his cheeks as he licks his lips, the sweat on the curve of his neck when his head falls back, the tendons in his hands tightening when Zayn holds him in his lap. He takes his time tasting every part of Harry he’d missed until there’s goosebumps against Harry’s skin and his body tightening underneath him.

               Zayn lays back against the seat, sweaty skin sliding against the material, and Harry immediately curls into him, pressing himself against Zayn’s chest as they both take in calming breaths. He drapes his arms around Zayn’s neck and buries his head under his chin. He’s making needy sounds into Zayn’s skin, so Zayn runs his hands down his back soothingly. Every once in a while Harry will get like this afterwards, like he still can’t get close enough, like he’s trying to hold on so tightly in the hope that eventually they’ll just meld together, stuttered heartbeats syncing into one.

               Harry quiets down, only humming contentedly now as he brushes his lips in small sweeps across Zayn’s neck. Sometimes Harry moves so quickly, let’s himself get caught up in the excitement of everything around him, wants to experience everything so thoroughly, that he forgets he needs to take care of himself, too. He forgets that if he leaves so many pieces of himself scattered everywhere he won’t have anything left for himself. Zayn likes to be the one to ground him, to gather him back up and hold him tight until all the pieces fit together again.

               “You okay, babe?”

               Harry smiles against his skin. “Mhmm.”

               “Still wanna go down to the beach?” Zayn’s bones are feeling extraordinarily lazy, but he’ll trek down the hill if Harry wants.

               “No,” Harry mumbles. Zayn can tell he’s feeling lazy, too, barely moving his mouth to speak. “Just wanna… be here. With you.”

               Zayn pets Harry’s hair and leans down to kiss the top of his head. “Sounds good,” he replies, and it does sound good- it sounds good for as far into the future as Zayn can imagine.

 

               Harry takes another sip of his orange juice and sits back in his chair. All he has on are his pair of cuffed jean shorts and stupidly big fedora, which Zayn thinks was a poor packing choice on Harry’s part considering he only carries that duffle bag around.

               Zayn’s opted for a much more modest snapback to shield his eyes from the sun as they recline on a couple of lounge chairs and eat breakfast in his backyard.  Zayn leans over and swipes his finger across Harry’s mouth, brushing away a few crumbs from their toast. Harry smiles, but there’s a line between his eyebrows. He stares out, facing away from Zayn and examining the Malik garden intently.

               “I, uh, I’m gonna leave tomorrow, I think.”

               Zayn feels his heart sink. He had been purposely been avoiding this, refusing to ask the question, “ _So how long are you staying?”_ in the hope that maybe Harry would just forget to leave and end up staying indefinitely, until they went back to school.

               “Yeah?” is all Zayn replies with.

               “Mhmm. Figured I’d make my way south, see LA like I’ve always wanted to.” Harry takes another bite of his toast.

               Zayn should’ve known Harry wouldn’t “forget”, though. He should’ve realized Harry would start to feel that familiar jittery ache in his bones. He hadn’t let himself acknowledge it, but now as Zayn’s feeling the disappointment, he realizes he’d gotten this hope stuck in the back of his brain that Harry wouldn’t want to leave, that Zayn would be enough to keep him in one place. He can’t blame Harry, though; it’s just the way he is, and Zayn knows that.

               “Hey, Zayn?” He turns his head back to Harry, giving him a questioning hum. “I know this is a lot to ask, but… I was wondering… Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

               Zayn coughs, choking momentarily on the bite of bread he’d just put in his mouth. “With you?”

               “Yah,” Harry says, looking hesitant. “I figured everything out. If you wanna take your car we can. I looked up places for us to stay, stuff to go see. Asked your parents, and they said it was okay. I know you really wanted to spend the summer with your family, so if you don’t want to go it’s okay. I understand.”

               “You want me to come with you? Are you sure?”

               Harry looks at him confused. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

               “Well, I just thought you liked to do that stuff on your own. A sort of lone wolf thing, I don’t know. No one to tie you down.”

               “That’s silly, Zayn,” Harry replies with a grin. “You know I like being tied down as long as it’s by you.”

               Zayn laughs, and he can feel his cheeks blush. “So you really want me to come with you?”

               “Yes,” Harry insists. “You know how over break I was couch surfing at my friends’ houses and what not?” Zayn nods his head. “Well it was great, fantastic, but the whole time I kept thinking, ‘How much better would this be if Zayn were here?’ Infinitely better. I wanna see the world, Zayn. I want to go everywhere and try everything, but I don’t think it could possibly be as great without you there with me. Do you understand? I want to experience it _with_ you. I want it to be us, together, always.”

               Zayn hops out of his chair and hugs Harry. “I want that, too. Like, a lot,” he says, laughing. Zayn sits down cross legged on Harry’s lap, and Harry rests his hands on his knees.

               “I’m going to fucking, LA, dude.” They’ll still have to work with a fairly small budget, but Zayn’s been saving up all summer from his job, and the more he thinks about it, the more real the plan becomes.

               Harry nods enthusiastically. “I looked it up, and apparently they have some pretty sick graffiti to check out down there as well.’’

               Zayn jumps a little in Harry’s lap from excitement, but abruptly stills. “Oh shit. I have to pack. How long are we leaving for?”

               Harry shrugs his shoulders. “Until we can’t afford it? School starts in like a month so I figured road trip for like a week, then you could come home for a couple weeks, and then leave a bit early, take Niall up on his offer to let us stay with him for a bit before Uni starts up again.”

               Zayn nods, impressed. “That’s a lot of planning. Especially for you Styles.”

               Harry puts his hands on Zayn’s hips, dipping his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “Well I knew I was going to have to have _something_ resembling a plan if I was going to convince you to come with me.”

               Zayn tilts his head, tracing his fingers over Harry’s ribs. “Would’ve gone with you anyways- can’t really say no to you. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

               Harry gives a small smile and pulls Zayn in for a hug. Zayn dips his head carefully to avoid the brim of his hat. “Does that mean you’ll do my laundry for me, then?”

               Zayn leans back with a loud laugh. “As if. That’s ridiculous-” He flicks his finger against the top of the fedora. “Just like this hat.”

               Harry scowls at him, offended, and readjusts it on his head. Zayn smirks and pokes his cheek, and Harry smiles again, dimples showing. Zayn’s actually grown to like the hat, just like every other weird thing Harry decides to try. It’s all so him: strange and adorable and everything Zayn ever wanted in a person- even if he didn’t know he wanted it.

              

               The next morning they wake up early to beat the morning traffic. Usually Zayn would complain and cocoon himself in his blankets, but this time he gets up on time, shuffling around the house to pack last minute things and brush his teeth. He wakes his sisters’ up to give them both hugs and kisses goodbye, promising he’ll bring them both back souvenirs. His mother keeps asking him if he’s _sure_ he packed everything he needs, and after the third time checking his bag he assures her that he has and explains that they’re not going to the middle of nowhere- he can always buy something if he really needs it. His dad gives him a long hug goodbye, and when he pulls away Zayn thinks he sees something like a hint of pride in his eyes, like he’s proud of Zayn for venturing out and experiencing new things.

 

               The morning sun is casting rosy and glowing peachy shadows across the roofs of all the houses by the time they throw their bags into the back of Zayn’s jeep, and Zayn’s mom hurries out from the front door carrying a bag of snacks she always used to make and put into his and his sisters’ lunches.

               “Just something else in case you get hungry, alright? You have enough money for gas?”

               “Yes, Mom,” Zayn replies.

               “And you checked your tires?”

               “Yep.”

               “And you have the map with the highlighted route, right?”

               Zayn sighs. “Yes, Mom. We have everything.”

               Harry walks over and puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Malik. I’ll be navigating.”

               She laughs and leans over to give them both tight hugs and kisses on each cheek. “Alright, then. Guess I’ve done about as much nagging as I can do. Have fun and drive safe, okay?”

               “Will do,” Zayn says. “I’ll see you in a little bit!”

               “See you later, Mrs. Malik! It’s been lovely staying at your home,” Harry adds. “Thank you again!”

               “Any time!” she calls back as Zayn hops into the front seat and Harry into the passenger.

               Zayn puts on his seatbelt and starts the car, looking over to Harry excitedly, brain already imagining what’s ahead of them. Harry grins back, smile wide and eyes shining.

               “Ready for our big adventure together, Malik?”

               “Probably not,” Zayn replies, taking Harry’s hand in his, “but it’s gonna be one hell of a good time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll be putting up a new chapter every Monday.
> 
> Also, big thank you's to dorkstagram and intodarkness for helping me edit this thing and giving me enough confidence to post it. :)
> 
> Im on tumblr at h0ney-maid.tumblr.com as well!


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